


Living With A Demon

by The_Sassiest_Trixster



Series: Living with a Demon [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angel John Watson, BAMF Greg Lestrade, BAMF John Watson, BAMF Mycroft Holmes, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, Basically a retelling of Sherlock Season One but with Rosie added into to the mix, Demon Sherlock Holmes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 15:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 63
Words: 99,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sassiest_Trixster/pseuds/The_Sassiest_Trixster
Summary: John grabbed another box that he had labeled "Kitchen Crap" and walked into the kitchen, placing everything away in the cabinets and drawers before walking out into the living room for the last time.  Just as he moved to pick up the last box, he heard a thump, making him look up and gasp.  Before him stood a tall man with pale skin, curly black hair, and heterochromic eyes dressed in black pants, plum dress shirt, black Yves Saint Laurent leather lace up dress shoes, and a navy blue Belstaff coat, and in his arms was little Rosie, asleep with her head on the man's shoulder."Beautiful baby" the tall man murmured.  John's eyes widened and he quickly reached into one of the boxes, pulling out a handgun before he stood up and pointed it at the man before him."Who are you?  Where did you come from?  What are you doing here?  What are you going to do with my daughter?" he demanded, trembling slightly in fear that the man would hurt Rosie.  The man, who was four inches taller than him, looked at him and smiled, revealing pointed canines."Name's Sherlock Holmes.  This is my flat, I live here" he answered.





	1. Meeting Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> Transcript for the dialogue that comes later in the story comes from: https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org/tag/transcript

It was a rather normal day for a man of average height with silver-blonde hair, fair skin, and blue eyes by the name of John Watson.  He had just moved from his old flat in Manchester, with his baby daughter Rosie, to a new flat in London.  The movers had just unpacked all of their things from the moving van and placed it in the flat, leaving John with the joy of unboxing and putting everything away.  Before he started to unbox everything, he walked over to the couch that was graciously left in the flat and placed his daughter down on it, making a little fort of pillows around her to keep her from falling or getting hurt as he worked.  Once she was protected by the pillows, he moved to unbox all of his daughter’s clothes and toys, placing them in one of the rooms in the flat.  After he had placed them away, he walked back into the living room and grabbed another box, glancing over at his daughter, who was still safe and snug in her little pillow fort.  He smiled softly at the sight before he walked into another room of the flat, his room, and started to place things around the room and in his bathroom before he decided to make his bed.  After his bed was made, he walked back into the living room, grabbed the box labeled “John’s Clothes” and walked back into his bedroom, heading over to the closet where he neatly hung everything up before walking back out to the living room for the fourth time.  He then grabbed another box that he had labeled “Kitchen Crap” and walked into the kitchen, placing everything away in the cabinets and drawers before walking out into the living room for the last time.  Just as he moved to pick up the last box, he heard a thump, making him look up and gasp.  Before him stood a tall man with pale skin, curly black hair, and heterochromic eyes dressed in black pants, plum dress shirt, black Yves Saint Laurent leather lace up dress shoes, and a navy blue Belstaff coat, and in his arms was little Rosie, asleep with her head on the man’s shoulder.

            “Beautiful baby” the tall man murmured.  John’s eyes widened and he quickly reached into one of the boxes, pulling out a handgun before he stood up and pointed it at the man before him.

            “Who are you?  Where did you come from?  What are you doing here?  What are you going to do with my daughter?” he demanded, trembling slightly in fear that the man would hurt Rosie.  The man, who was four inches taller than him, looked at him and smiled, revealing pointed canines.

            “Name’s Sherlock Holmes.  This is my flat, I live here” he answered.  John’s mouth fell open in shock.

            “Wha—wait, how could this possibly be your flat?!  The real estate agent said that this flat was on the market for years and that no one had bought it…how could this be your flat?” he exclaimed.  The man, Sherlock, chuckled and shook his head as he sat down on the couch, Rosie still fast asleep in his arms.

            “Sit” he ordered, motioning to the chair across from him.  John remained standing, which made the man growl.

            “Sit” he growled, snapping his fingers.  John’s eyes widened as his body walked, on its own volition, over to the chair, sitting down before the man.

            “What did you do to me?!” he shouted.  Sherlock snickered.

            “Possess you.  Makes things easier for me” he answered.  John gulped.

            “Wha—” he started when Sherlock snarled.

            “If you would just be quiet and let me speak, I could explain myself, thank you very much” he snapped.  John nodded and sat back in the chair, taking a deep calming breath.

            “Sorry” he murmured in apology.  Sherlock huffed, shifting Rosie in his arms before he looked over at John and snapped his fingers, ripping John’s gun out of his hand and placing it on the mantle over the fireplace.  After he had done that, he turned back to look at John.

            “Now, as I was saying, I live here.  I am a demon, and this is my flat.  The reason it’s been on the market for years is because I’ve scared off every single potential tenant that has even remotely stepped foot in this flat” he explained with an evil grin, once again revealing his fangs.  John frowned, opening his mouth to say something before quickly closing it again; he knew better.  The action did not go unnoticed by Sherlock as he looked up at the man and raised an eyebrow before his attention was captured by Rosie, who started to whimper in her sleep.  Across from him, John’s eyes widened and he sat forward in the chair, ready to comfort his daughter, when Sherlock gently rubbed Rosie’s back, hushing her and nuzzling her forehead with his nose.  To John’s complete surprise, Rosie instantly quieted as Sherlock turned his attention back to him.

            “You have questions, I can tell” he stated.  John nodded and Sherlock motioned for him to ask, making him take a deep breath.

            “I have two.  First, how did you get my daughter to calm down so quickly?  Second, if you scared off every single tenant, then why didn’t you scare us off?” he asked.  Sherlock blinked, surprised by the questions, before he smiled for the third time.  This smile wasn’t a warm smile or an evil smile with showing fangs, it was just a smile.

            “Well, to answer your first question, I’m not actually sure so I can’t exactly answer that one.  To answer your second question, I could tell that you really needed this place.  And you have a daughter who is…how old?” he asked.  John looked at Rosie, who was snuggled against Sherlock’s chest, and smiled fondly.

            “Two” he answered.  Sherlock smiled slightly as he looked down at Rosie.

            “How precious” he murmured before he looked back up at John.

            “I’m not going to scare away a single father and his daughter.  Even I have a bit of a heart” he stated, almost as if he was offended.  John chuckled before he quickly covered his mouth.  He didn’t want to laugh, but Sherlock was funny.  Sarcastic, yes, but funny.  He then cleared his throat, calming his laughter, before looking at Sherlock.

            “Well, um, thank you.  You know, for not scaring us away” he murmured.  Sherlock smirked before he stood to his feet and walked over to John, placing Rosie in his arms.  He looked up at Sherlock in shock and the demon smiled, once again revealing pointed canines.

            “You’re very welcome, Mr. Watson” he whispered, almost as if he did not want to wake Rosie.  John let out a soft gasp.

            _‘How did Sherlock know my name?  I never even introduced myself!’_ he thought to himself.  Sherlock’s soft chuckles soon brought him out of his thoughts and he blinked to see Sherlock’s face quite close to his.

            “I hope to be seeing you again very soon” he purred as he ran a hand over Rosie’s soft baby blonde hair before looking at John once more.

            “Goodbye, Mr. Watson” he murmured before he disappeared in a “poof” of smoke and ash.  John coughed, swatting away the smoke from his face before he stood up and walked over to Rosie’s bedroom.  As he walked inside, he froze.  The crib that he had meant to set up just now had already been made and even had the bedding all set up as well.  John smiled as he walked over to the crib and placed his daughter down inside it, pulling the cover up to her chin.

            “Sleep well, sweetheart” he whispered before he walked out of the room and into the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of tea.  He then walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where he sat down on the couch, pulling out one of his newer books that he had bought to read.  He read the book for almost two hours before he had to put it down, eyes burning from the lack of sleep.  After he placed the book down, he haggardly stood to his feet, rubbing his eyes as he sleepily headed towards his bedroom.  As soon as he collapsed onto his mattress, he fell fast asleep.


	2. Meeting Mary Morstan

Around 3:00 in the morning, a scream rang out from the baby monitor that John had set up next to his bed, making him shoot up in shock and fear.

            “What?  Where?  Who—” he started before his eyes widened with horror and he froze.

            “Rosie!” he exclaimed as he leapt out of bed and ran into the next room, only to stop at the sight of Sherlock, with huge black leathery wings jutting out of his back, holding Rosie gently in his arms.  John let out a surprised gasp, making Sherlock look over at him, a look of annoyance on his face.

            “Her screams were loud enough to wake the dead” he grumbled.  John chuckled before he stepped towards the demon, yawning.

            “Sorry…she’s been known to be a rather loud screamer” he apologized.  Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes as he began to bounce on the balls of his feet, rocking her so that she would go back to sleep.  John watched the demon for a moment before he cleared his throat.

            “Sherlock?” he called out softly.  The demon looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “Yes?” he replied, just as softly.  John frowned as he looked into the demon’s heterochromic eyes.

            “Why are you here?” he asked.  Sherlock frowned as well.

            “What do you mean?” he replied.  John sighed as he walked over to Rosie’s downy grey padded rocking chair.

            “It’s just that you could be anywhere in the world, since you’re a demon, and yet…you’re here, trying to get my daughter to go back to sleep” he murmured, almost to himself.  Sherlock stiffened before he quickly walked over to John, roughly shoving Rosie into his arms.

            “If you didn’t want me here, you could have just said something” he snarled before he disappeared in a puff of smoke and ash.  John’s eyes widened.

            “Sherlock, wait, no!” he exclaimed softly before he thumped his head against the rocking chair.

            “Damn it” he swore softly before he sighed deeply and stood to his feet, walking over to Rosie’s crib, placing her back underneath the covers, tucking her in once more.

            “Sweet dreams, baby” he whispered before he walked out of the bedroom and back into his own, quickly falling asleep.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

That afternoon, John was sitting in the living room, reading his book while Rosie was in her room, sleeping.  As he was reading, the doorbell rang, making him lift his head with a frown.

            “Now who could that be?” he muttered as he put down his book and went to answer the door.  When he opened it, he paused before his eyes narrowed dangerously.

            “Mary” he growled.  The woman standing before him, Mary Morstan, blushed nervously.

            “Hello John.  How are you?” she replied, stepping forward to enter the flat.  John growled and barred the door with his body, making sure that she could not enter.

            “What are you doing here?” he demanded.  Mary smiled innocently.

            “Visiting my daughter, of course.  Aren’t you going to let me in?” she asked.  John growled for the third time but, since he was a gentleman, he stepped out of the way and let Mary enter the flat.  After he closed the door behind her, he narrowed his eyes at his ex.

            “What the hell are you doing here, Mary?  You know the court orders.  I get full custody of Rosie and you don’t come anywhere near either of us.  We had an agreement” he spat.  Mary spun to face him, eyes flashing.

            “You can’t keep me from my daughter!  I have my right as her mother to see her” she shrieked.  John clenched his hands into fists.

            “No, you don’t!  that’s why we got a divorce in the first place!  You never wanted children and the minute you found out you were pregnant, you nearly had an abortion!  I had to beg you to keep Rosie!” he shouted back.  The two adults got in each other’s face, growling and snarling, when a loud wail echoed throughout the flat, alerting Mary of Rosie’s presence.  The woman’s eyes widened as she quickly turned and ran out of the room, trying to find where the cry had come from.

            “NO!” John shouted, running after her.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

John ran into Rosie’s room, just in time to see Mary leaning over the crib, cooing at the baby.

            “Hello sweetheart” she cooed, looking down at her daughter.  Rosie stared up at her, not liking the way she looked, and let out another ear-piercing scream.  Mary snarled and plucked her out of her crib, holding her up in the air.

            “Noisy little brat” she snarled as she barred her teeth, revealing sharp and pointed teeth.

            “No!” John screamed, running towards Mary, only to have her turn and deck him right in the face, sending him to the ground.

            “Papa!” Rosie shrieked, blue eyes wide with horror.  Mary turned to face her and snarled, licking her lips.

            “You’re going to make such a delicious meal” she purred as she pulled Rosie close, nuzzling the two-year-old’s neck.  Rosie let out a shriek as Mary opened her mouth and let her sharp teeth graze over Rosie’s soft and sensitive flesh.  Before she could sink her teeth into the babe’s flesh, the room suddenly began to shake and the smell of sulfur filled the air.

            **“LET HER GO, MARY”** a voice growled from behind her.  Mary turned to see Sherlock standing before John, leather wings spread out wide in protection.  Mary cackled and pulled Rosie away from her mouth.

 **“Are you really going to try and stop me, Sherlock Holmes?”** she purred.  Sherlock looked at Rosie, whose eyes were filled with tears, and snarled as he snapped his fingers, appearing before Mary and snatching Rosie out of her hands.  He gently stroked the little girl’s blonde hair comfortingly before he placed her back in the crib, whirling on Mary.

 **“HOW DARE YOU STEP FOOT INTO MY HOME”** he snarled, eyes flicking from heterochromic to black.  Mary snarled as red wings unfurled from her back and her fingers transformed into claws.

            **“You care too much, William Sherlock Scott Holmes”** she growled.  Sherlock snarled again.

            **“MAYBE I DO”** he replied before he launched himself at Mary, sending her to the ground with his hands around her throat.

            **“GO BACK TO HELL FROM WHENCE YOU CAME”** he growled as he tightened his hands around her neck, strangling her to death.  Mary just laughed and brought her feet under his stomach, kicking upwards.  The kick sent Sherlock flying into the air, but he quickly unfurled his wings, catching himself just in time as he looked down to see Mary heading towards Rosie again.  Before he could stop her, John threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Mary’s legs, sending her face first into the floor.

            “I will not let you hurt my daughter” he growled, blood trickling down his face.  Mary growled and lashed out with her foot, kicking John in the face, sending him flying back.  She then leapt at him and began to claw at his face and eyes, forcing John to hold up his arms to protect his face before he lashed out with his crossed arms, knocking her off him.  He then pushed himself to his feet and ran over to Rosie’s crib, picking her up and cradling her to his chest.  Away from him, Mary pushed herself to her feet, slightly out of breath, and glared at John, whose face was covered in blood and scratch marks.

            **“GIVE ME THE CHILD, JOHN”** she growled demonically.  John pulled Rosie closer to him.

            “Never” he spat back.  Mary roared before she lashed out, slashing Rosie on the back, causing her to let out a shriek of pain.  John looked at Rosie in horror before he looked at Mary with fury in his eyes.

            “You…you…” he growled, taking a step forward, but before he could anything, Sherlock landed before him, wings spread wide to protect him and Rosie from Mary.

            **“YOU BITCH”** he growled before he launched himself at Mary once more, sending her to the floor with his hands around her throat, gradually tightening them.  Mary choked and gagged, clawing at Sherlock’s hands and arms, but the demon did not relent.

            “Y-you…can’t kill me” Mary choked.  Sherlock grinned and tightened his hands even more around her neck.

            “Watch me” he whispered as he tightened his hands for the last time, decapitating her and turning her body into dust.

            “There.  That’s that” he murmured to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, turning to see John clutching Rosie tightly to his chest, covering her back so that the blood did not trickle out of the wounds that Mary had created.  His eyes widened and he quickly walked over to them, removing John’s hand from Rosie’s back, placing his own hand over the wounds.  In a blink of an eye, the wound was healed and no scars remained.  He then reached out and placed two fingers on John’s temple, healing the man’s face of the claw marks and blood before he disappeared into ash and smoke, making Rosie and John cough and swat away the ash.  Once the smoke and ash had cleared, John looked to where Sherlock stood and frowned.

            “He didn’t even say goodbye…or stay so that I could thank him” he murmured before he looked down at his daughter.

            “You alright, love?” he whispered, looking at his daughter with worried blue eyes.  Rosie nodded, making John let out a breath of relief as he hugged her to his chest.

            “Thank God” he breathed before he quickly walked out of the room, taking Rosie to the bathroom so that he could give her a quick wash to make sure that she was clean and so he could sleep easy knowing whatever had just tried to kill his daughter would no longer be on her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mary and I love Amanda, I promise, it's just for storytelling purposes. Please don't hate me for it. Also, thank you for all of the lovely comments! They really make my day! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!
> 
> Also, if you think that this story was written once before by a user by the name of The_Sassiest_Archangel, you would be correct. That was my previous profile until it was deleted due to people from another fanfiction thinking that I had plagiarized from one of the writers on that website. Little did they know that the profile on the other website was mine, but that's all in the past and I am here now. So, to avoid any comments about people thinking I plagiarized, I didn't. My old account got deleted, I had to wait for almost a year to get a new one, and now here is my new account with all of my old and maybe new stories. Hope that clears everything up.
> 
> The_Sassiest_Trixster


	3. Febrile Seizure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have witnessed a febrile seizure before, so everything that I have described is what I actually witnessed, so I'm not just making shit up

That evening, John and Rosie were sitting at the dining room table, enjoying a dinner of pasta with marinara sauce, with a small bowlful of plain pasta dressed in olive oil mashed slightly for Rosie.  As the two ate in silence, John found that he missed having Sherlock around.  He knew that the demon had his own life to live and didn’t care to trifle in theirs, but still, he missed him, for whatever reason.  With that thought in mind, John quickly finished his dinner and helped Rosie finish hers before he took their bowls to the sink to wash them.  Once he washed them, dried them, and put them back into the cupboard, he turned back to see his daughter covered in vomit.

            “Rosie!” he exclaimed, eyes wide as he ran over to his daughter, kneeling before her.  He hadn’t even heard her throw up, which worried him, a lot.  When he reached out to touch her forehead, he found that it was slightly warm to the touch, making him frown.

            “Oh dear…I hope I have some Motrin” he murmured as he pushed himself to his feet and ran into the kitchen, yanking open the medicine cabinet, searching for his daughter’s medicine.  As he searched, he found the thermometer and finally the liquid baby Motrin, which he grabbed as he walked back to Rosie and gently grabbed underneath her chin.

            “Don’t struggle sweetheart, please” he begged softly as he moved to place the thermometer in her mouth.  Rosie started to fuss and turned her head left and right as John tried to take her temperature, making the older Watson annoyed.

            “Rosie Watson, stop fussing for one second and let me take your temperature” he hissed, trying to be as gentle as possible as he placed the thermometer in his daughter’s mouth.  After holding it there for a few seconds, it beeped, letting him know that the temperature had been taken.  When he took it out, he saw that it was 39.4°C, which made him bite his lower lip as he placed the thermometer on the table and grabbed the Motrin box, opening it and pulling out the bottle, shaking it.  Once it was well shaken, John took the syringe that came with the box and placed it into the bottle, pulling out the recommended dosage before he turned back to his daughter, whose cheeks began to have a light pink tint to them as tears threatened to fall.

            “Come on sweetheart, take your medicine” he whispered soothingly as he moved the syringe closer to Rosie’s mouth.  Rosie shook her head and began to whine as John tried to put the syringe tip into her mouth and maneuver it to the side of her cheek.  John bit his bottom lip and tried not to get angry, but he didn’t want his daughter to suffer any more than she had to.

            “Rosie, please” he begged as he once again tried to put the syringe into her mouth.  This time, Rosie let out a loud cry and smacked the syringe out of John’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor.

            “Rosamund Mary Watson!” John scolded before he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the syringe, picking it up and taking it to the kitchen, where he promptly cleaned it up before walking back to his daughter, kneeling before her.

            “Rosie, please baby, take your medicine” he pleaded.  Rosie let out another whine but allowed John to give her the medicine this time.  John let out a relieved sigh before he cleaned up the medicine and grabbed a towel, cleaning Rosie and the table up as best as he could before he pulled Rosie out of her highchair.

            “Come on love, let’s get you all cleaned up” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

John carried Rosie into the bathroom and walked over to the tub, filling it up with lukewarm water and baby oil.  As the tub slowly began to fill with water, John started to undress Rosie, who was now clammy and a little sweaty, before gently placing her in the water.  As soon as the water touched Rosie’s skin, she let out a little cry, making John feel like crying as well.

            “I know, I know you don’t feel well baby, but you need to be clean so you can feel better” he soothed as he grabbed a washcloth and dipped it into the water, running it gently over Rosie’s back, making the little girl let out another cry, breaking John’s heart.

            “Shh…shh…sweetheart, it’s alright, it’s alright, shh” he soothed as he finished washing Rosie’s body with the washcloth.  He then filled a small bowl with lukewarm water and rinsed her off before he squeezed a bit of baby shampoo in his palm and rubbed his hands together, lathering up the suds before he ran his fingers through Rosie’s hair, gently massaging it.  It didn’t take him very long to wash and rinse her hair before he pulled her out of the bath and toweled her down with the fluffiest towel they owned.  Once she was bundled nice and warm, he drained the water in the tub then took her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, dressing her in one of her softest onesies; one that didn’t have feet on them so that it would at least allow her body to let out some of the heat that was trapped within her.  He then took her back to the bathroom and plugged in the hair-dryer, blow-drying her hair on the coolest temperature the machine could offer, making sure that her hair was thoroughly dry so that she would not get sicker.  Once her hair was dry, John unplugged the hair-dryer and carried Rosie back to her room, sitting down in her downy gray rocking chair.  He then began to gently rock back and forth, hoping to soothe her enough to get her to fall asleep.  He rocked her for about five minutes before her eyelids began to droop, which made him slowly stand up from the chair when her vibrant blue eyes flew open and she let out a heartbreaking cry.  John quickly sat back down and cradled her to his chest, rocking once more as tears started to stream down his cheeks.

            “Shh…shh…don’t cry sweetheart, don’t cry.  Please don’t cry, baby, please don’t cry.  Don’t make Papa cry” he begged as he carefully clutched his daughter to his chest.  As he cried over Rosie’s feverish body, he didn’t see Sherlock appear in the room before him.

            “John?” the demon called out softly.  John looked up in surprise, tears streaming down his face and snot dripping down his nose.  Sherlock’s eyes widened and he quickly walked over to him, kneeling before him, heterochromic eyes full of concern.

            “What happened?  Is Rosie alright?” he demanded.  John opened his mouth to answer when suddenly Rosie stopped breathing.  His eyes widened and he looked down at her, only to find that her eyes had rolled to the back of her head.

            “Rosie?  Rosie!  Rosamund Mary Watson!” he shouted, gently shaking his daughter, who was unresponsive.  He quickly pushed Sherlock out of the way and got on the floor, placing Rosie down before him, gently pumping her chest.

            “Rosie!  Rosie!” he cried before he leaned over and began to push air into her lungs before he sat back on his heels, looking at his daughter, whose limbs seemed to have seized up.  He let out a sob before he leaned down and pushed air into her lungs once more before he leaned back and pumped on her chest gently.

            “Rosie, please sweetheart, please” he begged.  He and Sherlock watched as Rosie remained in the same position before her limbs finally relaxed, her eyes rolled back to the front, and her breathing slowly came back.  John let out a relieved sob before he gently picked her up and hugged her, cradling her against him.  As he was holding her, Sherlock looked over at them.

            “Give her to me” he ordered.  John looked over at him and nodded, handing Rosie over to the demon.  Sherlock pressed two fingers to Rosie’s head, healing her of the fever before placing her in her crib.  He then turned to see John on his hands and knees, sobbing.  He frowned and slowly knelt before the man.

            “John?” he called out softly.  The man looked up at him before he reached out and pulled him in for a hug, sobbing into the demon’s chest.  Sherlock froze, this was the first time a human had hugged him in years.  He was shocked and wanted to push John away, but the man was sobbing so heartbreakingly that he could help but feel sorry for him.  So, he just wrapped his arms around John and held him close.

            “Hey, it’s alright John, it’s alright” he soothed, rubbing the human’s back.  John shook his head and buried his face deeper into Sherlock’s chest.

            “I thought…I thought I was going to lose her, Sherlock!  All to some damn fever!” he shouted softly, clutching at the demon’s coat.  Sherlock frowned and placed a hand on John’s back, feeling the human’s heart beating faster.

            “John, you need to calm down or you’re going to pass out” he ordered.  John ignored his order and shook his head.

            “What if I had lost her?  How could I forgive myself?  What would I tell my friends?  How could I face anyone anymore?  What if—” he rambled, voice raising in panic.  Sherlock quickly grabbed his face and held it between his hands.

            “John, stop it.  Look at me” he growled softly.  John let out a sniffle as he looked up at Sherlock, tears still streaming down his face.

            “Stop worrying.  Rosie’s fine, she’s asleep in her crib” the demon assured.  John shook his head, letting out another sob.

            “But what if—” he started when Sherlock moved his hands from his face to his shoulders, shaking him.

            “Stop it John.  Just stop it.  Rosie.  Is.  Fine” he growled darkly.  John looked at the demon, eyes wide in shock, almost as if he had been slapped.  Sherlock looked at his face and sighed deeply.

            “I’m sorry John, I didn’t mean to snap” he apologized before he pulled away and sat on the floor across from John.

            “Now, why don’t you explain to me what happened?” he suggested.  John glanced at him before he sniffled and wiped the tears from his eyes.

            “We were just eating dinner and after I cleaned up, I came back to find Rosie covered in vomit.  When I went to check her temperature, I found that she had a slight fever, 39.4° C” he explained with a shaky voice before he took a deep breath.

            “I gave her some baby Motrin to try and bring her fever down before I took her to the bathroom to give her a lukewarm bath so that she could cool down.  Once she was clean, I brought her back here to try and see if she would sleep.  I rocked her for a little away, almost putting her to sleep when she suddenly woke up and let out a pained cry.  When you arrived, she just sort of stopped breathing.  I think she might have had a febrile seizure” he explained, slightly horrified.  Sherlock frowned.

            “A what?” he asked.  John sighed.

            “A febrile seizure.  It’s a convulsion in a child that may be caused by a spike in body temperature” he explained.  Sherlock hummed.

            “So…her fever spiked and she stopped breathing?  Is that what happened?” he asked, trying to understand the situation.  John nodded, taking a shaky breath.

            “I was so scared…I was so scared Sherlock” he whispered.  Sherlock sighed and crawled over to the human, sitting next to him, arms brushing.

            “I know…I know” he whispered, rubbing John’s back.  John sniffled as he leaned into Sherlock, resting his head on his shoulder.

            “You know, this is the first time you’ve ever called me John instead of Mr. Watson…and I’ve never even introduced myself” he whispered before he shut his eyes.  Sherlock chuckled and unfurled a wing, wrapping it around John.

            “I know” he whispered, smiling almost fondly at the man leaning on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently I got the flu, but I will still try to update while trying to get better at the same time. But thank you for all of the lovely comments! They really brighten my day! Hope you guys are enjoying this story and please don't forget to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	4. Meeting Mycroft Holmes

The next morning, John woke up to find that he was tucked into his bed, almost like a child.  He sat up and rubbed his head, feeling a slight headache.

            “How did I even get here?” he murmured to himself before his eyes widened.

            “Sherlock” he exclaimed softly before he shook his head, blushing slightly.

            “Ugh, why would he even…” he grumbled as he pulled himself out of bed, groggily walking out of his bedroom towards the kitchen.  When he entered the kitchen, he found Sherlock sitting at the dining table, a spoon in one hand and a bowl of warm oatmeal in the other as he sat before Rosie, feeding spoonful after spoonful to her.  John watched them for a moment before he shook his head and walked over to the pair.

            “Good morning, John” Sherlock greeted, not even looking up from feeding Rosie, making John chuckle.

            “Morning.  Um, you don’t have to do that, you know?” he stated.  Sherlock smirked as he glanced up and looked at John, who in his opinion, looked absolutely adorable with mused silver-blonde hair and rumpled pajamas.

            “Oh, I know, but I wanted to.  Tea’s on the counter, just the way you like it” he stated before he turned his attention back to Rosie.  John blinked in shock, opening his mouth to say something when he thought better of it and instead walked into the kitchen, grabbed his cup of tea, and walked back into the dining room, sitting down in front of Sherlock.  He watched the demon feed his daughter for a moment before he cleared his throat.

            “Sherlock…” he started, drawing the demon’s attention away from feeding Rosie a spoonful of oatmeal.

            “Yes?” he replied.  John looked down at his tea and took a deep breath before he looked up into Sherlock’s heterochromic eyes.

            “What was Mary?” he asked.  Sherlock blinked in surprise at the question before he frowned and placed the bowl of oatmeal down, turning to fully face John.

            “She **was** human…until she was possessed” he answered.  John frowned while Rosie let out a little whine, alerting Sherlock that she was still hungry.  The demon quickly turned back to her and fed her a few more spoonful’s of oatmeal before turning back to John.

            “What…what was she possessed by?” John asked.  Sherlock sighed.

            “A Harpy.  Most harpies are born with the body of a bird and the head of a woman, but if a human woman is possessed by a Harpy spirit, then the woman keeps her human body while gaining claws where her fingers used to be, large red wings, and sharp pointed teeth.  They are always hungry, so your daughter would have made a nice little snack for her” he sneered.  John let out a little whimper, making Sherlock’s face quickly turn to one of concern.

            “So…so the woman I married was human when Rosie was conceived, right?” he whispered.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Correct” he replied.  John let out a breath of relief as he looked towards Heaven.

            “Oh, thank God” he sighed before he looked at Sherlock, smiling slightly.

            “You know, I never thanked you last night for healing Rosie.  I think I freaked myself out so much that manners went right out the window” he joked before he cleared his throat and held out his hand.

            “I never properly introduced myself: John Hamish Watson, but everyone calls me John.  Pleasure to meet you” he introduced.  Sherlock blinked in surprise at the introduction before he chuckled and returned John’s handshake.

            “Pleasure, John.  The name’s William Sherlock Scott Holmes, but you may call me Sherlock” he replied.  John grinned and took a sip of tea before he looked at the television box’s clock.

            “9:00?!  Oh God, I’m late!” he exclaimed, quickly downing the rest of his tea before he stood to his feet and walked over to Rosie, kissing her on the head before looking at Sherlock sheepishly.

            “Um…would you be willing to watch Rosie for today?  I haven’t found a sitter yet and—” he started when Sherlock chuckled and ran his fingers through Rosie’s soft blonde hair.

            “Of course I’ll watch Rosie, John.  You don’t even have to ask; the answer will always be yes” the demon replied.  John shot him a grin of relief.

            “Thank you Sherlock” he breathed before he rushed off to his bedroom, quickly got dressed, then ran back out, slightly out of breath.  Sherlock eyed him up and down before he shook his head, chuckling.

            “Oh John, your tie” he teased as he walked over to the man and fix the haphazardly done tie.  John blushed as Sherlock fixed his tie then fixed his messy hair.

            “Did you even use a brush?” he wondered as he fixed John’s hair.  Once it was satisfactory to his liking, he smiled and put his hands on his hips.

            “There, all set” he declared.  John blushed again before he smiled and shook his head.

            “Thank you Sherlock” he thanked before looking over Sherlock’s shoulder at Rosie, smiling.

            “Bye Rosie!  Be good for Sherlock, okay?” he called out.  Rosie didn’t hear him; she was too busy making a mess of whatever was left of her oatmeal.  Sherlock and John chuckled at the sight before John turned back to the demon.

            “Thank you again Sherlock” he whispered before he dashed out the door.  Sherlock watched him leave before he smiled fondly.

            “You’re welcome, John” he murmured under his breath before he turned back to Rosie, who was now covered in oatmeal.

            “Rosie!  What are you doing, love?  You’re making a mess” he scolded gently as he walked back into the dining room and over to the two-year-old, grabbing the bowl of oatmeal and spoon, carrying them over to the sink.  He quickly washed them and made himself a cup of tea before he turned back to Rosie, shaking his head.

            “You little troublemaker.  Now I must clean you up and everything” he teasingly grumbled as he walked back to the dining table, taking a sip of his tea before he walked over to Rosie’s highchair and picked her up, holding her out in front of him.  Rosie let out a whine and made grabby hands at Sherlock, wanting to be held closer, but that only made Sherlock screw his face up in disgust as he shook his head.

            “Absolutely not; I am not letting you touch me with your filthy little hands” he declared as he quickly walked into the bathroom and filled the tub up with warm water and baby oil.  He then undressed her and placed her in the bath, taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeve before he knelt next to the tub and waved his hand, summoning a washcloth out of thin air that landed in the warm water.  He waited until the water soaked the cloth through before he grabbed it, wrung it out, and started to give Rosie a bath.  As he wiped the oatmeal off her hands, her face, and her neck, the little girl splashed around, sending water everywhere, most of it landing on him.

            “Oi, careful with the water” he warned as he continued to clean with the washcloth.  Once he deemed Rosie’s body clean, he cupped his hands into the water and gently let it run onto Rosie’s head so that he could wet her hair to wash it, since she had gotten oatmeal into her blonde hair.  Once her hair was sufficiently wet, he grabbed the bottle of baby shampoo and put about a penny’s worth in his palm then began to scrub Rosie’s scalp gently.  He scrubbed for a few moments before he pulled his hands away and turned on the faucet, rinsing his hands.  He then cupped his hands under the running water and rinsed Rosie’s hair, making sure that all of the suds were out.  Once Sherlock deemed that she was nice and clean, he drained the tub, rinsed her entire body off, then pulled her out of the tub, summoning a fluffy towel.  He then toweled her down, making sure she was nice and dry (hair and body) before he snapped his fingers, dressing her in a new diaper and black onesie, something different than what was in her normal pastel closet.  He then picked her up and held her close as they walked back out into the living room, plopping down on the couch.

            “Now, what should we do then, hm?” he asked, looking down at the little girl in his arms.  Rosie looked up at him and a hopeful look entered her eyes.

            “Story?” she asked.  Sherlock smiled and nodded.

            “Sure, sweetie.  What do you want to read?” he asked.  Rosie clapped her hand gleefully.

            “Pooh!” she exclaimed.  Sherlock chuckled and snapped his fingers, making a book appear before him.  As he grabbed the book, he looked at the cover.

            _“Winnie the Pooh and the Royal Birthday”_ he read aloud before he looked down at Rosie, smiling slightly.

            “This one okay?” he asked.  Rosie nodded and snuggled against him, curling her body to fit with his.  Sherlock smiled and leaned back into the couch, opening the book.

            _“You could tell that Christopher Robin had something important to say the way he clasped his knees tightly and wriggled his toes.  Everybody gathered round and looked at him expectantly”_ he began as Rosie snuggled closer to him.  Sherlock smiled slightly as he maneuvered one of his arms to cradle her as he continued to read.

            _“I heard that her Majesty...” Christopher Robin began”_ he continued when a sudden chill fell over the room.  The demon stopped reading and looked up, tense, before he put the book down and formed a harpoon made of sulfur and ash, holding Rosie close in one arm.

            **“Who’s there?”** he growled, clutching the harpoon tightly in his hand.

            “Oh, brother mine, do put the spear away.  I don’t think you want to hurt your brother” a teasing voice called out.  Sherlock turned and looked over his shoulder to see a tall man with fair skin, ginger hair, and green eyes dressed in a light grey three-piece suit and holding an umbrella standing in the middle of John’s living room.

            “Oh, Mycroft, it’s just you” he breathed as he crushed the spear into dust.  The tall man, Mycroft, smirked and crossed his arms.

            “Are you not happy to see me?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head as he picked up Rosie, cradling her close, before he stood up from the couch to greet his brother.

            “No, I am happy to see you.  It’s just that you could have knocked, you know, like a normal person” he replied.  Mycroft scoffed, rolling his eyes.

            “Sherlock, you of all people should know that I am not a normal person” he stated before he noticed Rosie fast asleep in Sherlock’s arms.

            “Oh!  Who’s this?” he asked, walking over to his brother, standing before him.  Sherlock shifted Rosie in his arms and smiled fondly.

            “Rosamund Mary Watson.  My new tenant’s daughter” he replied.  Mycroft hummed and tilted his head, studying Rosie with interest.  Sherlock noticed the look before he smirked.

            “Would you like to hold her?” he asked.  Mycroft looked up at Sherlock, staring at him as if he had horns growing out of his head (ha, demon joke), before he let out a deep sigh and placed his umbrella on the arm of the couch, holding out his arms.

            “Oh, alright then” he murmured.  Sherlock smirked as he moved Rosie into Mycroft’s arms, watching as Mycroft quickly cradled Rosie to his chest, holding her gently as she shifted herself to get more comfortable in his arms.  Once she was comfortable, she yawned and stretched out her little hand, grabbing onto the lapel of Mycroft’s suit, making Mycroft look down at her in wonder while Sherlock just smiled and crossed his arms.

            “This…is an odd feeling” Mycroft murmured, careful not to wake the sleeping child.  Sherlock huffed.

            “What, never held a child before, brother?” he teased.  Mycroft shot him a glare before he huffed.

            “I have, but that was a long time ago” he replied softly, almost as if he was reminiscing on a distant memory.  Sherlock was silent before he turned and walked towards the kitchen.

            “Tea?” he softly called out.  Mycroft looked up from Rosie’s soft snuffling at him and nodded.

            “Please” he replied.  Sherlock nodded and walked into the kitchen, quickly fixing two cups of tea before walking back to the living room.  He motioned for Mycroft to sit in one of the chairs across from the couch while he set his brother’s cup of tea down next to him before he moved to sit on the couch.  Once the two brothers were comfortable, Mycroft cleared his throat.

            “So, brother mine, what have you been up to?  Getting into trouble?” he teased.  Sherlock scoffed and shook his head.

            “No, of course not.  I’ve been here, watching over Rosie and her father” he answered.  Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

            “Sherlock, you’re actually showing feelings?” he asked, a little surprised.  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

            “Oh, come now Mycroft, you know I’m the more emotional one out of the two of us” he replied.  Mycroft hummed, petting Rosie’s hair before he noticed the book next to Sherlock’s left thigh.

            “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the book.  Sherlock looked down at the book and picked it up, holding it out to his brother.  Mycroft took the book and peered at the cover.

            _“Winnie the Pooh and the Royal Birthday”_ he read aloud before he looked up at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

            “Really Sherlock?  Winnie the Pooh?” he sneered.  Sherlock growled.

            “Rosie wanted a story and she wanted Winnie the Pooh, so that’s what I picked to read” he replied softly.  Mycroft hummed before he cracked open the book.

            “How far did you get?” he asked.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow before he thought for a moment.

            “Barely past the first page” he replied.  Mycroft nodded and scanned the first page before he made himself comfortable in the chair, clearing his throat.

 _““Oh” squeaked Piglet in a state of great excitement.  “Her Royal Highness…” he went on.  “Quite so, quite so,” agreed Rabbit.  “The Queen of England…” he said quickly before anyone could interrupt him._ _“Oh, The Queen,” said Pooh Bear, much relieved. “The other people you mentioned sounded much too tall and fearsome, but The Queen is quite different.” Pooh had once sent a letter and was told to stick on a small picture of The Queen. It stuck more to his nose than to the letter but it told the postman that it was Most Urgent and that The Queen Says It Must Be Sent and so he was sure it had been. “As I was saying,” said Christopher Robin, passing Pooh a honey sandwich so that he might continue speaking, “Her Majesty, The Queen is celebrating an important birthday, her ninetieth birthday. And we should too. Celebrate it, that is, by giving her a present””_ he read aloud.  Sherlock looked at his brother in shock before he quickly took a sip of tea so that he could hide his smile, just to make sure that Mycroft could not see his proud smile.  He continued to sip the tea before he placed the cup on the table next to the couch, sighing softly as he laid down on the couch and stretched, clasping his hands over his chest as he shut his eyes.  Mycroft didn’t even notice that Sherlock had moved; his eyes were glued to the book.

 _““I had a present once,” sighed Eeyore wistfully. “Two in fact, if I may boast a little. One was rather small and damp and the other somewhat larger and sticky. But I don’t like to complain. A present is Something and to have two is Something Else.”  Both Pooh and Piglet blushed slightly.  They had a memory of a wonderful balloon and a large jar of the best honey that had begun as Exceedingly Good presents and then, due to various mishaps, had become Rather Disappointing presents, but which were presents nevertheless and as Eeyore had said – that was Something.  “The question is,” said Rabbit importantly, “what do Queens like best?”  “Honey, I should think,” sighed Pooh, looking at the small, sticky crumb where the honey sandwiches had once been.  “I’ve heard,” said Christopher Robin, who knew a great deal about far away places like the other side of the Forest and London, “that The Queen has a grand tea every day in her palace, with buttered toast and crumpets, so I shouldn’t think we’d need to give her anything to eat.  Her present should be something to treasure.”   “I’ve never had much luck finding treasure,” sighed Pooh.  “But I did once find the North Pole. Do you suppose The Queen might like that?”  The friends thought this an excellent idea but it wasn’t long before they realized that finding the North Pole once was a very fine thing but that finding it again was an altogether different thing.  Suddenly the Forest seemed to be full of sticks that could or could not be the North Pole. “This will never do,” announced Rabbit”_ the elder Holmes continued before he looked up to see his younger brother lying on the couch, not quite asleep, but not quite awake either.  Mycroft sighed fondly, shaking his head before he looked down at Rosie and smiled.  She was such a precious little thing; he could understand why Sherlock was infatuated with her.  He then looked back at the book and continued to read.

            _““Do ...” mumbled Pooh. “That brings to mind a little hum which I’d like to hum if it was felt that a hum was called for at such a time of thoughtfulness.” And without waiting for a reply he began:_

**_The Queen lived in her palace, as Queens often do. Doing all those busy things that busy Queens do. But The Queen could never know, as you and I do, That doing nothing much can be the BEST thing to do. So from a forest far away, for your special day, We’re sending you some quiet and a little time to play._ **

_And quiet there was. The sort of quiet that makes the tip of your nose turn a sunset-shade of pink.  “Bear,” announced Christopher Robin solemnly.  “That hum is fit for a Queen. That hum shall be The Queen’s present. Owl shall write it out and you and I and Eeyore will deliver it to Buckingham Palace.  And Piglet must come too because London is a very big place indeed and even small animals, if they are very good friends, can make everything alright.”  And so it was decided and Owl was called for. Owl fussed here and fussed there and used up a good deal of time, paper and ink but at last it was done and everyone admired it. Kanga, who knew how important presentation was, especially for Queens, took the hum, rolled it and tied a thick vine around it. Into the vine she twisted wild heather, columbine, buttercups, meadow sweet, thyme and lastly a thistle, kindly donated by Eeyore. Christopher Robin also found a beautiful, bright red balloon, which he thought The Queen might enjoy on grey days.  “Piglet, you should hold it,” he said.  “That way we won’t lose you in the crowd.”   Piglet held on very tightly to the balloon.  He wasn’t quite sure what a crowd was, something like a dark cloud perhaps, but in any case he didn’t want to get lost in it and was pleased the balloon would help. So, the presents were ready and, side-by-side, Winnie-the-Pooh (Edward Bear, Bear of Very Little Brain, Brave Adventurer and Loyal Friend), his small companion Piglet, Eeyore, and Christopher Robin set off for London”_ he continued.  As he continued to read, Rosie fell deeper into her slumber while Sherlock bravely tried to stay awake, but his brother’s reading, which he hadn’t heard in years, soothed all of the tension in his shoulders and mind and unfortunately, in his case, put him to sleep.  While he was reading, Mycroft was fully aware that both his brother and the little girl in his arms were fast asleep, but he didn’t mind.  It was nice to just take some time off and read to his family, which was something he missed doing.  He then smiled and placed the book down in his lap, taking a sip of the tea that Sherlock had so graciously made him before he picked the book back up and continued reading.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Just as Mycroft finished the story, he heard keys enter the lock to the flat, which made him sigh and stand to his feet, cradling Rosie to his chest.  Before the door unlocked, the elder demon snapped his finger and cleaned up the flat, leaving it much nicer than when John had left.  When the door opened and John stepped inside, the man was surprised to see that the flat was so clean.

            “Sherlock?  Sherlock, did you clean up the flat?” he called out, trying to find the demon. 

            “No, Mr. Watson, my brother did not clean up your flat, I did” Mycroft called out from the living room.  John’s head whipped towards the demon’s voice and before he entered the living room, he grabbed his Sig-Sauer P226R from the closet in the hallway and stormed into the living room, gun out in front of him, ready to shoot anyone who was not Sherlock.  When he saw Mycroft holding Rosie, he cocked the hammer on the gun back and pointed it right between the demon’s eyes.

            “Who are you and what are you doing in my flat?” he growled.  Mycroft eyed the gun before he rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, ripping the gun out of John’s hand.

            “Honestly Mr. Watson, pointing a gun at the man holding your infant daughter?  What kind of father are you?” he sneered.  John snarled and clenched his hands into fists.

            “One that’s trying to keep his daughter safe from creeps that would try to hurt her.  Now, who are you and what are you doing in my flat?” he demanded, spitting out the question.  Mycroft smirked, shifting Rosie in his arms so that he was holding her with one arm while he held out his other hand to shake John’s hand.

            “Mycroft Holmes” he introduced.  John blinked in surprise before he cautiously reached out and shook the man’s hand.

            “So, you’re Sherlock’s brother then?” he asked.

            “Older” Mycroft corrected as he walked over to the man, still holding Rosie as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

            “Has he done any deductions on you yet?” he asked.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “I’m sorry?” he replied.  Mycroft huffed.

            “Deductions” he repeated.  John nodded slowly.

            “Oh.  Um, no, I don’t think so” he answered.  Mycroft hummed before he eyed the man up and down, smirking.

            “Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked.  John frowned.

            “Excuse me?” he replied.  Mycroft huffed.

            “Which one was it?  Afghanistan or Iraq?” he repeated.  John shook his head in shock.

            “Afghanistan.  Sorry, how did you—” he started when Mycroft held up a hand.

            “How do you feel about the violin?” he interrupted.  John shook his head again.

            “What?  What is this all about?” he demanded.  Mycroft sighed and motioned to Sherlock, who was asleep on the couch.

            “He plays the violin when he’s thinking and sometimes he doesn’t talk for days on end.  If he is going to be around this flat as often as I think he will be, I need to warn you about his habits” he explained.  John nodded slowly before he ran his hand through his hair.

            “Okay, that’s fine, but how the hell did you know about Afghanistan?” he demanded.  Mycroft smirked.

            “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan.  You’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him, possibly because he’s an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife” he deduced before he shrugged his shoulders.

            “It’s a Holmes thing…we deduce people.  You really should get used to it.  It’s going to happen quite often in the near future” he stated as he walked over to John and handed him Rosie.

            “Your daughter is wonderful, I might add.  Very sweet.  I can see why my brother likes her.  And you” he murmured before he snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of smoke and ash.  John coughed and swatted the smoke and ash away from his face before he looked down at his sleeping daughter in his arms.

            “What the bloody hell just happened?” he muttered under his breath before he walked over to Sherlock and reached down, gently shaking the demon’s shoulder, startling the young Holmes out of his slumber.

            “What?!” Sherlock exclaimed as he bolted up right before looking around for a second, his eyes finally landing on John and Rosie.

            “Oh, you’re home” he observed.  John nodded.

            “Yup.  Also met your brother, Mycroft” he stated.  Sherlock hummed.

            “And?  Thoughts?” he asked.  John shrugged.

            “Bit of a prick, but he seems alright.  He did deduce me, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable, but I suppose that’s beside the point—” he started when Sherlock growled.

            “He deduced you?  That bastard.  He knows he’s not supposed to do that” he grumbled, making John shrug his shoulders again.

            “It’s alright, Sherlock, I really don’t mind.  But he did say something about you playing the violin?  When you’re thinking?” he inquired.  Sherlock looked up at him and nodded.

            “Indeed.  It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it can go for hours on end…hope that doesn’t bother you” he replied.  John shook his head.

            “I actually quite enjoy the violin” he admitted.  Sherlock’s mouth turned up in a small smile.

            “Excellent” he murmured and before they could continue their conversation, there was a knock at John’s door.  Sherlock and John both turned before John sighed.

            “Coming” he called out, handing Rosie over to Sherlock, who took the toddler gently in his arms.  John then walked over to the door and opened it, revealing a tall man with fair skin, gray hair, and brown eyes dressed in a three-piece black suit overlaid with a long black trench coat.  John frowned.

            “Can I help you?” he asked.  The tall man, a kitsune, cleared his throat but before he could even introduce himself, Sherlock was immediately at John’s side.

            “Detective Inspector Lestrade.  How can we help you?” the demon asked.  The man, Lestrade, cleared his throat again and held out a case file.

            “Four suicides, latest one at Brixton Gardens” he stated.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

            “What’s new about this one?  You wouldn’t have come to get me if it was like the others” he replied.  Lestrade sighed.

            “You know how the killer never leaves notes?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded.

            “This one did” Lestrade deadpanned.  Sherlock’s eyes widened while Lestrade looked at him pleadingly.

            “Will you come?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head, composing himself, and hummed, thinking about it.

            “Who’s on forensics?” he replied.  Lestrade sighed.

            “Anderson” he answered.  Sherlock growled, showing fangs.

            “Anderson won’t work with me” he stated.  Lestrade groaned.

            “He won’t be your assistant!” he exclaimed.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

            “I need an assistant” he snapped back softly, trying not to wake Rosie. 

            “Will you come?” Lestrade begged.  Sherlock at him, the grin on his face turning almost feral, and nodded.

            “Of course, Inspector.  I’ll be there in a moment” he assured.  Lestrade nodded and bid them both goodbye, handing John the file before he walked down the steps and out of sight.  John shut the door behind him before turning to look at Sherlock.

            “What are you?” he asked.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow, smirking.

            “What do you mean by that, John?  Besides being a demon, you mean?” he replied.  John nodded.

            “I’m known as a consulting detective.  The Yard only calls for me if they cannot solve a case, and obviously they can’t solve this one.  So, they’re coming to me” Sherlock explained, eyeing John before smiling mischievously.

            “You’re an army doctor” he deduced.  John nodded.

            “Yes.  Well, was” he replied.  Sherlock smiled as he shifted Rosie in his arms.

            “Any good?” he asked.  John nodded again.

            “Very good” he answered.  Sherlock’s smirk turned into a wide grin.

            “Seen lot of injuries then?  Violent deaths?” he asked.  John sighed, nodding.

            “Well, yes” he answered.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Bit of trouble too, I bet” he declared.  John nodded in agreement, shuddering slightly.

            “Of course, yes.  Enough for a lifetime; far too much” he replied.  Sherlock looked at him before he smiled mischievously once more.

            “Want to see some more?” he asked.  John let out a soft moan, nodding.

            “Oh God, yes” he whispered.  Sherlock grinned and snapped his fingers, placing Rosie in a baby carrier.  John’s eyes widened.

            “Rosie’s coming with us?” he exclaimed.  Sherlock shrugged.

            “I don’t see why not.  It would be illogical to leave her here, don’t you think?” he asked.  John sighed and nodded.

            “Yes, yes of course.  Now come on, I’m sure that Detective Inspector is waiting for us” he murmured.  Sherlock smirked before he snapped his fingers, John’s gun appearing before them.

            “Wha—” John started when Sherlock took the gun and handed it to him, which he took in confusion.

            “You’ll need this” the demon stated before he opened the door, motioning for John to exit first before he followed after him, slamming the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	5. Deductions

Sherlock then hailed a taxi and soon the two men, and little girl, got into the cab.  Once they were settle and Sherlock told the cabbie driver where they were heading, they were off.  They sat in silence for a few moments, John staring out the window and Sherlock stroking Rosie’s soft blonde hair, before Sherlock cleared his throat.

            “You’ve got questions” he stated.  John nodded, not looking away from the window.

            “Yeah, where are we going?” he asked. 

            “Crime scene.  Next?” Sherlock replied as he continued to stroke Rosie’s hair.

            “Who are you?  What do you do?  I mean, I know you’ve told me, but honestly, what is it that you do?” John asked, tearing his gaze away from the window to look at the demon.  Sherlock smirked.

            “What do you think?” he countered.  John shook his head.

            “I don’t know…I’d say private detective…” he started.  Sherlock motioned with his hand to continue.

            “But…” he stated.

            “But the police don’t go to private detectives” John finished.  Sherlock smirked, nodding in approval of the doctor’s deductions as he continue to stroke Rosie’s hair, liking the way it felt through his fingers.

            “I’m a consulting detective, as I said before.  The only one in the world.  I invented the job” he explained.  John frowned.

            “What does that mean, exactly?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed.

            “It means, whenever the police are out of their depth – which is always – they consult me” he answered.  John nodded, slowly understanding, before he scoffed.

            “The police don’t consult amateurs” he declared.  Sherlock looked at John askance before he smiled slyly.

            “When my brother met you for the first time, he asked “Afghanistan or Iraq?”, yes?  You must have been surprised” he deduced.  John frowned.  Cheeky demon.

            “Yeah, so?” he asked.  Sherlock tilted his head to the side.

            “Were you not surprised?” he asked.  John shook his head.

            “No, no, I was definitely surprised.  How did he know?” he asked.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “My brother thinks he’s so clever by deducing that you were from Afghanistan, but I knew the moment I met you.  Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military.  And the way you diagnosed your daughter with a febrile seizure said trained at Bart’s, so army doctor.  Obvious.  Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrist: you’ve been abroad but not sunbathing.  You were wounded in Afghanistan, due to the way you sometimes shift your shoulder as if it’s in pain, even though the wound is old, the memory of getting hit is still there” he explained.  John hummed and reached over, grabbing Rosie’s hand and stroking the back of it as Sherlock continued to deduce him.

            “Then there’s your brother.  Your phone – it’s expensive, email enabled, MP3 player.  But you’re a single father trying to keep up a rent on a flat, so you wouldn’t waste money on this.  It’s a gift, then.  Scratches – not one, many over times.  It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins.  The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner.  The next bit’s easy, you know it already” he stated as he snapped his fingers, John’s phone appearing in his hand.  He then turned it over, showing the back: _“Harry Watson – from Clara xxx”._  John glanced at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

            “The engraving?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Harry Watson: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone.  Not your father, this is a young man’s gadget.  Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who has a daughter, whom you’re overly protective of, so you wouldn’t want to live with someone that you’re not particularly close to, so brother it is.  Now Clara: who’s Clara?  Three kisses says a romantic attachment.  Expensive phones says wife, not girlfriend.  Must’ve given it to him recently; this model’s only six months old.  Marriage in trouble then – six months on and already he’s given it away?  If she’d left _him_ , he would’ve kept it.  People do, sentiment.  But _no_ , he wanted to get rid of it – he left _her_.  He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch” he stated, pausing for a moment before continuing.

            “You’ve chosen a rather cheap accommodation for you and your daughter and you’re not going to your brother for help?  That says you’ve got a problem with him.  Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you _don’t_ like his drinking” he finished.  John shook his head incredulously.

            “How could you possibly know about the drinking?!” he exclaimed.  Sherlock shrugged.

            “Shot in the dark.  Good one, though.  Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge.  Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky.  You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone, never see a drunk’s without them.  There you go, you see?  You were right” he declared, finishing his deduction.  John looked at him and frowned.

            “ _I_ was right?  Right about what?” he demanded.  Sherlock smirked. 

            “The police don’t consult amateurs” he replied haughtily.  John let out an annoyed little huff before he socked Sherlock in the arm.

            “Ow!” Sherlock exclaimed softly, knowing that Rosie was still sleeping. 

            “Bloody smartass” John murmured, a small smile on his face.  Sherlock smirked; he liked seeing John smile and he liked the fact that he was the one that put it there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	6. PINK!

After Sherlock’s deduction, the two men sat in silence until they arrived at the crime scene.  As they got out of the car, Sherlock looked over at John.

            “Did I get anything wrong?” he asked.  John shrugged.

            “Harry and I don’t get on; never have.  Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they’re getting a divorce.  And Harry is a drinker” he confirmed.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Spot on, then.  I didn’t expect to be right about everything” he boasted.

            “Harry’s short for Harriet” John interrupted, smirking.  Sherlock stopped walking, shocked.

            “Harry’s your sister” he murmured under his breath while John looked around at the crime scene before looking back at him.

            “What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?” he asked.  Sherlock gritted his teeth, once again revealing fangs.  John noticed that he only did that when he was truly annoyed.

            “Sister!” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth as he began to head towards the crime scene, taking longer strides than John.

            “No, seriously, what am I doing?” John shouted as he ran after the demon.  Sherlock looked over his shoulder at him and smirked.

            “There’s always something” he purred before he walked over to a Gorgon of average height with chocolate skin, brown eyes, and curly black hair named Sally Donovan.

            “Hello, demon” she greeted, eyeing the toddler strapped to Sherlock’s chest with disdain.  John noticed the look and growled softly under his breath, making Sherlock reach out and place a calming hand on his arm before he looked at Sally.

            “I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.  This is John Watson, my partner” he introduced, motioning to the man next to him.  Sally gave him a look of disdain as well before she focused her attention on Sherlock.

            “Why?” she demanded.  Sherlock looked at her as if she was stupid.

            “I was invited” he replied.  Sally wasn’t swayed.

            “Why?” she repeated.

            “Think he wants me to take a look” Sherlock spat, covering Rosie’s ears so that Sally’s loud tone wouldn’t wake her up.

            “Yeah, well, you know what I think, don’t you?” Sally sneered as Sherlock lifted up the police tap and stepped under, clutching Rosie close.

            “Always Sally” he sneered before he walked away.  John then stepped forward and began to lift the tape when Sally stopped him.

            “Who’s this?” she demanded.  Sherlock stopped and looked back at her, rolling his eyes.

            “I already told you, my partner, Dr. John Watson.  Dr. Watson, meet Sargent Sally Donovan” he introduced.  John glared at Sally, who returned the look before looking over at Sherlock.

            “A partner?  A partner, how the blood fuck do you get a partner?!” she demanded.  John stepped forward, fingers prickling with flames.

            “Watch your language around my daughter” he growled.  Sally looked at him in shock at the harshness of his tone while Sherlock just lifted the police tape, allowing the man to step underneath.  Sally looked at the pair before she sighed and pressed a button on her walkie-talkie.

            “Demon’s here, bringing him in” she spoke as she turned away from Sherlock, Rosie, and John.  The two men and toddler followed her as the woman walked towards the house, only to be greeted by a tall man with fair skin, brown eyes, and long brown hair in a blue forensic hazmat suit.

            “Ah, Anderson, here we are again” Sherlock greeted dryly.  The man in the forensic hazmat suit, Philip Anderson, sneered at Sherlock, who stood before him with a baby strapped to his chest and a rather ordinary man at his side. 

            “This is a crime scene.  I don’t want it contaminated!  Are we clear on that?  And why the bloody hell have you brought a baby?!” he demanded.  John’s eyes narrowed as he took a step towards Anderson, fire sparking at his fingertips once more, something that did not go unnoticed by Sherlock but did go unnoticed by Anderson.

            “Oi, watch what you say about my daughter, eh?” he growled.  Anderson sneered at him, also taking a step forward.

            “And why are you letting a demon watch your daughter?  You bloody insane?” he spat.  John growled, the fire on his fingers growing slightly, not quite incasing his hands, but enough to let Anderson know that he was angry.

            “I said, **watch it** ” he snarled.  Anderson quickly took a step back, making Sherlock smirk before he looked down at John.

            “Go and see if Lestrade is over there, please?  I think he’s waiting for us” he stated.  John shot Anderson one last glare before he walked away, looking for Detective Inspector Lestrade.  Once he was out of earshot, Sherlock turned to Anderson, clutching the back of Rosie’s head so that she was close to him.

            “Be careful, Anderson.  Unlike you, a mere mortal, John is possessing a power he doesn’t even know about, which makes him dangerous.  So, I suggest you watch yourself” he whispered before he turned on his heels and followed after John.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock and John stepped past Anderson and entered the house, walking through many doors before entering the room where Lestrade and the other officers of Scotland Yard were located.

            “You might want to put one on” Sherlock advised, motioning to a hazmat suit as he looked at John.  He, of course, didn’t bother to put one on, but he did put a small mask over Rosie’s face so that she wouldn’t breathe in the harmful toxins of the chemicals that the forensic team was using.  When they walked over to Lestrade, the man looked at John and furrowed his brows.

            “Who’s that?” he asked, motioning with his head to John.  Sherlock looked at John and smiled before looking back at Lestrade.

            “That is Dr. John Watson.  You met him this morning; you handed him the case file.  And this is Rosamund Mary Watson” he introduced, motioning first to John then to Rosie, who was still asleep in the baby carrier.  Lestrade nodded slowly.

            “Ah, I see” he replied before turning to John.

            “Pleasure to meet you” he stated.  John smiled and nodded.

            “Likewise,” he replied, just as Sherlock cleared his throat.

            “Where are we?” he asked.  Lestrade finished putting his hazmat suit on and sighed as he picked up another pair of latex gloves.

            “Upstairs” he answered, motioning for John and Sherlock to follow him as they walked up a circular staircase, Sherlock holding Rosie’s head to his chest so that he wouldn’t wake her as they ascended the winding stairs.

            “I can give you two minutes” Lestrade stated as they continued to climb the stairs.  Sherlock hummed.

            “May need longer” he replied casually.  Lestrade rolled his eyes and shook his head as he continued to climb.

            “Her name’s Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards.  We’re running them now for contact details.  Hasn’t been here long.  Some kids found her” he continued as they all continued walking, leading them two stories above the ground floor to a room that was empty of furniture, save for a rocking horse in the far corner.  Emergency portable lighting had been set up, presumably by the police, and scaffolding poles were holding up part of the ceiling near a couple of large holes that had been knocked through one of the walls.  In the middle of the room, a woman’s body was lying face down on the floor, wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled shoes, hands flat on either side of her head.  The three men stepped into the room and Sherlock studied her for a moment before stepping forward until he reached the side of the corpse.  His attention was immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards ear the woman’s left hand was the word “Rache”.  His eyes then flicked to her fingernails, noticing that the index and middle nails were broken and ragged at the ends, the pink nail polish chipped in stark comparison to her other nails, which were still immaculate.  The woman’s index finger rested at the bottom of the “e” as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died.

            “Hmm…left handed” he murmured aloud as he stared down at the woman before looking back at the word carved into the floorboards, an immediate suggestion springing to his mind.

            “Rache” he whispered to Rosie, who snuffled in her sleep.  He then shook his head in a tiny dismissive movement, the suggestion disappearing.  He looked at the carved word again, overlaying the five letters with a clearer type.  Next to the “e”, a rapid progression of letters appeared and disappeared as he tried to complete the word when suddenly the correct letters fell into place.

            “Rachel” he declared as he squatted down next to the body, cradling Rosie’s head with his left hand while he examined the body with his right, running his gloved hand along the back of her coat before lifting his hand to look at his fingers.

            “Wet” he mused before he reached into her coat pocket and found a white folding umbrella in one of them.  Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he then inspected his glove again.

            “Dry” he mumbled, putting the umbrella back into her pocket before moving up to the collar of her coat and running his fingers underneath it, looking at his fingers once more.

            “Wet” he exclaimed softly as he reached into his pocket, took out a small magnifier, clicked it open, and closely inspected the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist, the gold earring attached to her left ear, and the gold chain around her neck.  All three pieces were clean.

            “How peculiar” he mumbled before he moved to look at the rings on her left ring finger, the wedding ring and engagement flagging a different message to him.

            “Dirty” he exclaimed.  John and Lestrade looked at the demon, frowning.

            “What’s dirty?” John asked.  Sherlock didn’t answer as he blinked in rapid succession of conclusions that appeared in front of his eyes: married, unhappily married, unhappily married 10+ years.  He then carefully worked the wedding ring off the woman’s finger and held it up to look at the inside of it.

            “Clean” he stated, making John groan.

            “What’s dirty, Sherlock?” he demanded.  Sherlock turned to look at him and held up the ring.

            “This.  The outside of the ring is dirty while the inside is clean, which means she must have removed it regularly” he answered.  Lestrade frowned and crossed his arms.

            “Why?” he asked.  Sherlock smirked as he stood to his feet.

            “Serial adulterer” he stated.  John blinked in shock.

            “Seriously?” he exclaimed.  Sherlock looked over at him and gave him a look.

            “John.  When am I ever not serious?” he asked.  John huffed and rolled his eyes while from the doorway, Anderson eyed Sherlock with disdain.

            “She’s German.  “Rache”: it’s German for “revenge”.  She could be trying to tell us something—” he started when Sherlock looked over at him.

            “Be quiet Anderson, no one asked for your bloody input” he snapped before he pulled out his phone, pulled up the “UK Weather” menu, and selected “Maps”.  While he was fiddling with his phone, Lestrade looked confused.

            “So, she’s German?” He asked.  Sherlock looked up from his phone and shook his head.

            “Of course she’s not.  She’s from out of town, however.  Intended to stay in London for one night…before returning home to Cardiff” he stated, pocketing his phone and kissing Rosie’s head before looking at John.

            “Well, Dr. Watson, what do you think?” he asked.  John frowned at him.

            “What do I think of what?” he replied.  Sherlock huffed.

            “Of the body.  You’re a medical man” he stated.  Lestrade crossed his arms.

            “You know we have the whole team outside, right?” he called out.  Sherlock looked over at him and smirked.

            “I know, but I don’t want to work with them because they won’t work with me” he replied.  Lestrade sighed and waved his hand.

            “Fine” he grumbled.  Sherlock grinned while John got down on his hands and knees to take a look at the woman, putting his head close to hers and sniffing before straightening a little and lifting her right hand to look at the skin.  He then sat up and looked across at Sherlock.

            “Yeah…asphyxiation, probably.  Passed out, choked on her own vomit.  Can’t smell any alcohol on her.  It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs” he stated.  Sherlock gave him a look.

            “You know what it was.  You’ve read the papers, you read the file” he teased.  John looked at him and frowned.

            “What, she’s one of the suicides?  The fourth?” he stared when Lestrade cleared his throat.

            “Sherlock, I need something” he called out.  Sherlock sighed and stood to his feet, cradling Rosie’s head against his chest for probably the billionth time.

            “Victim’s in her late thirties.  Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink.  Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night.  It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase” he declared.  Lestrade frowned.

            “Suitcase?” he repeated.  John looked around the room, looking for the suitcase, but he saw none.

            “Suitcase, yes.  She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily.  She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married” Sherlock continued.  Lestrade narrowed his eyes at the demon.

            “Sherlock, I swear to God, if you’re making this up—” he started when Sherlock shook his head.

            “Her wedding ring; ten years old at least.  The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring.  State of her marriage right there.  The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed.  The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger.  It’s not for work; look at her nails.  She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who _does_ she remove her rings for?  Clearly not _one_ lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them.  Simple” he stated.  John looked at him with a look of awe on his face.

            “Wow” he breathed.  Sherlock looked over at him and smiled.

            “Thank you” he replied before he turned back to the body.

            “Her coat: it’s slightly damp.  She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours.  No rain anywhere in London in that time.  Under her coat collar is damp too.  She’s turned it up against the wind.  She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just wind, _strong_ wind – too strong to use her umbrella.  We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried.  So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?” he asked.  Lestrade and John didn’t have an answer, which made Sherlock groan and pull out his phone from his pocket, showing them the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying today’s weather for the southern part of Britain.

            “Cardiff” he declared.  John smiled, making Sherlock puff out his chest in pride.

            “Why d’you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade asked suddenly.  Sherlock blinked before spinning around in a circle.

            “Yes, where is it?  She must have had a phone or an organizer.  Find out who Rachel is” he ordered.  Lestrade frowned.

            “She was writing “Rachel”?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed deeply and gave Lestrade a look, who gave the look right back.

            “You know it’s protocol, Sherlock” he reminded.  Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms over Rosie.

            “No, she was leaving an angry note in German!  _Of course_ she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be.  Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?” he wondered aloud.

            “How d’you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade continued.  Sherlock pointed to the back of the woman’s legs, where her tights had small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg.

            “Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left.  She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand.  Don’t get that splash pattern any other way.  Smallish case, going by the spread.  Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night” he murmured as he knelt down by the woman’s body, examining it again.

            “Now, where is it?  What have you done with it?” he asked.  Lestrade shook his head.

            “There wasn’t a case” he replied.  Sherlock slowly raised his head.

            “Say that again” he ordered.  Lestrade sighed.

            “There wasn’t a case.  There was never any suitcase” he repeated.  Immediately Sherlock stood to his feet and made his way to the door, but before he could get very far, John stood to his feet.

            “Sherlock Holmes, give me my daughter before you go running off willy-nilly” he ordered.  The demon stopped, turned around, unhooked the baby carrier from around his body, and carefully reattached it to John’s.  Once Rosie was carefully strapped to John’s chest, Sherlock ran out of the room, calling to the police officers in the house as he began to hurry down the stairs.

            “Suitcase!  Did anyone find a suitcase?  Was there a suitcase in this house?” he shouted.  Lestrade and John raced out of the room after him, stopping on the landing.

            “Sherlock, there was no case!” Lestrade shouted after him. 

            “But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves.  There are clear signs.  Even you lot couldn’t miss them” Sherlock shouted back.  John rolled his eyes before he followed down the stairs after him, clutching Rosie’s head to his chest, making sure not to jostle her.

            “Sherlock, slow down” he shouted, but the demon didn’t listen to him and continued to run down the stairs.

            “It’s murder, all of them.  I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings – _serial_ killings” he purred, revealing pointed canines.  John now deduced that Sherlock showed his teeth when he was either extremely excited or extremely angry.

            “We’ve got ourselves a serial killer.  I _love_ those.  There’s always something to look forward to” Sherlock stated as John continued to race after him, but he had fucking long legs, so it was a bit difficult to keep up with him, especially since John was also carrying his sleeping daughter.

            “Why are you saying that?” Lestrade shouted from the landing. 

            “Her case!  Come on, where’s her case?  Did she eat it?!  Someone else was here, and they took her case.  So, the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car” Sherlock murmured to himself.

            “She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there” he suggested as he continued down the stairs.

            “No, she never got to the hotel.  Look at her hair.  She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes.  She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking—” he started when he paused.

            “Oh” he whispered, eyes widening.

            “OH!” he exclaimed.

            “Sherlock?” John called out.

            “What, what is it?” Lestrade demanded.

            “Serial killers are always hard.  You have to wait for them to make a mistake” Sherlock replied giddily.

            “We can’t just wait!” Lestrade exclaimed.

            “Oh, we’re _done_ waiting!” Sherlock shouted as he raced down the stairs some more.  John groaned and followed after the demon, still clutching Rosie to his chest.

            “Look at her, really _look_!  Houston, we _have_ a mistake.  Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were.  Find Rachel!” Sherlock shouted as he reached the bottom of the staircase.

            “Of course, yeah, but what mistake?!” Lestrade shouted from the landing.

            _“PINK!”_ Sherlock shouted back.  Once he was gone from sight, John quickly ran down the rest of the stairs until he ran out of the house.  When he saw no sight of Sherlock, he groaned.

            “Bastard” he whispered to himself as he walked towards the police tape.

            “He’s gone” Sally called out, smirking.  John looked over at her and glared.

            “Obviously” he retorted as he pulled up the police tape and began to walk away when Sally stepped forward.

            “Bit of advice: stay away from him.  He’s bad news.  Especially if you have a daughter” she stated.  John paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm his growing anger, but it was no use.  The ground beneath his feet suddenly erupted in flames and Sally took a fearful step back as John spun on his heels, surrounded by a ring of fire, and narrowed his eyes at her.

            “Don’t tell me who I can and cannot associate with, Sergeant” he growled before he turned once more on his heels and stormed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! If you are, please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe! They really all brighten my day!
> 
> Also, never tell John what to do. He doesn't like it.


	7. Watch Out for Sherlock Holmes

John continued to walk down the street when suddenly his mobile began to ring.  He pulled it out of his pocket, frowning as he unlocked it and put it to his ear.

            “Hello?” he answered.

            _“Hello John”_ a voice replied.  John smiled slightly.

            “Mycroft.  How can I help you?” he asked.  Mycroft sighed on the other line.

            _“Come.  I wish to speak with you”_ he stated, just as a sleek black car pulled up to the curbside.  John looked at the car and raised an eyebrow.

            “Why?  Is something wrong, Mycroft?” he asked.

            _“No John.  I just wish to speak with you”_ Mycroft replied before the line went dead.  John shook his head.

            “Holmes” he grumbled before he entered the car and drove off.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Inside the car, John was sitting next to a pretty young woman with her eyes fixed to a Blackberry, which she was typing away at.

            “Hello” he greeted kindly.  The young woman looked up from her phone at him and smiled.

            “Hi” she replied before looking at Rosie, who was still fast asleep on John’s chest.

            “Beautiful baby” she cooed.  John smiled.

            “Thank you” he replied as a thoughtful look crossed his face.

            “Where are we going?” he asked.  The woman smiled.

            “You’ll see” she replied.  John sighed and shook his head.  He was in for a long ride. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sometime later, the car pulled into an almost-empty warehouse.  In the center of the warehouse, a tall man with fair skin, ginger hair, and green eyes dressed immaculately in a three-piece light grey suit leaned on an umbrella and watched as the car came to a stop.  When John got out of the car and saw the man, he smiled.

            “Mycroft” he greeted as he walked over to the elder Holmes.  Mycroft smiled and nodded in greeted.

            “Evening, Dr. Watson.  Everything alright?” he asked.  John shrugged.

            “I suppose.  People were giving Rosie and Sherlock dirty looks at the crime scene that we were at, but other than that, everything’s fine” he replied.  Mycroft’s eyes flashed slightly.

            “What?” he growled.  John nodded.

            “They wondered why the bloody hell I let Sherlock carry Rosie around in a baby carrier at a crime scene.  They said I should know better” he spat.  Mycroft growled before he looked down at the sleeping toddler strapped to John’s chest, anger instantly melting off his face.

            “Ah…he’s drugged her, I see” he murmured, smiling slightly.  John’s eyes widened.

            “What?  Who drugged Rosie?” he demanded.  Mycroft chuckled.

            “Sherlock, of course.  He wanted to bring Rosie along on the case, but you know how children are: they cry, they whine, they fuss.  Sherlock didn’t want that, so he slipped a bit of sleeping aid into Rosie’s oatmeal this morning.  No normal toddler can stay this silent for such a long period of time” he explained.  John nodded slowly in understanding.

            “Oh…I see.  I’m going to have to talk to him about that” he muttered under his breath before he cleared his throat at looked into Mycroft’s green eyes.

            “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” he asked.  Mycroft nodded, snapping out of his thoughts.

            “Ah, yes.  I know that you and Sherlock are on a case and that is marvelous.  He’s been so bored without one and now he’s finally found someone to accompany him on them.  Please, Dr. Watson, watch out for him.  I can’t be two places at once and I know he’ll protect you, but someone needs to protect him.  He runs head on into danger and it makes me a little worried sometimes.  I mean, I know we’re immortal, but still, dying isn’t a pleasant feeling” he explained.  John nodded.

            “Sure.  Yeah alright, I’ll look out for him” he promised, just as his phone dinged.  He frowned, pulled it out of his pocket, and read the message on the screen.

_Baker Street._

_Come at once,_

_if convenient._

_SH_

 

Mycroft looked at John and raised an eyebrow.

            “Sherlock?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “Yeah.  He said _Baker Street.  Come at once if convenient_ ” he answered.  Mycroft nodded.

            “You best be off them” he stated.  John looked up from his phone at him.

            “You sure?  Is there nothing else you wanted to talk about?” he asked.  Mycroft shook his head, just as John’s phone went off again.

 

_If inconvenient,_

_come anyway._

_SH_

 

            “Another text?” Mycroft asked.  John nodded.

            _“If inconvenient, come anyway”_ he replied.  Mycroft shook his head and smiled.

            “Oh, someone’s in need of attention.  Go on, entertain him.  Would you like Anthea to take you back or would you prefer to be instantly transported there?” he asked.  John thought about it for a moment before he looked at Mycroft.

            “Instantly transported” he replied.  Mycroft nodded.

            “Good man” he declared before he snapped his fingers, transporting John back to his flat in the blink of an eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	8. After That Taxi!

John returned to his flat to find Sherlock lying stretched out on the sofa, his head towards the window, resting on a cushion with his eyes closed and jacket off.  His shirt-sleeves were unbuttoned and pushed up his arms with his right palm firmly pressed onto the underside of his left arm just below the elbow.  After a few seconds, the demon’s eyes snapped open and he stared fixedly up towards the ceiling before sighing nosily, shutting his eyes again.

            “What are you doing?” John asked as he walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

            “Thinking” Sherlock replied.  John smiled into the hot cuppa that he made before he cleared his throat.

            “Well?” he asked.  Sherlock didn’t respond, making John sigh.

            “You asked me to come.  I’m assuming it’s important” he stated as he walked into the living room.  Sherlock still didn’t respond instantly, but after a couple of seconds, his eyes snapped open again, yet he didn’t bother turning his head towards John.

            “Oh, yeah, of course.  Can I borrow your phone?” he asked.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “My phone?” he repeated. 

            “Don’t wanna use mine.  Always a chance that the number will be recognized.  It’s on the website” Sherlock explained.  John sighed, finished his tea, then ran a hand through his hair before he walked towards Rosie’s room.

            “Alright, fine.  Just let me put Rosie down and then you can have it” he called out as he entered his daughter’s bedroom.  He first unbuttoned the buttons that cradled his daughter’s head then unbuttoned one side of the carrier before he slipped his daughter out and walked her over to the crib.  He placed her inside and tucked her in before he placed the baby carrier on her rocking chair, making sure that he would be able to find it later.  He then walked out of the room and over to Sherlock, holding out his phone.

            “Here” he stated.  Without opening his eyes, Sherlock held out his right hand, palm up.  John glowered at him for a moment before he stepped forward and slapped the phone into his hand.  Sherlock then slowly lifted his arm and put his hands together, this time with the phone between his palms, shutting his eyes again.  John turned and walked a few paces away before turning around again.

            “So, what’s this about?  The case?” he asked.

            “Her case” Sherlock replied softly.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “Her case?” he repeated.  Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes.

            “Her suitcase, yes, obviously.  The murderer took her suitcase.  First big mistake” he explained.  John crossed his arms.

            “Okay, he took her case.  So?” he asked.  Sherlock ignored his question and instead held out John’s phone.

            “On the dining room table there’s a number.  I want you to send a text” he ordered.  John narrowed his eyes.

            “Send it yourself” he snapped, making Sherlock sit up and look at him.

            “John, please.  The number, it’s on the table” he repeated.  John shut his eyes, took a deep breath, then grabbed the phone as he walked over to his dining table and that there was indeed a number on his table.

            “Sherlock, how did you get this number?  Where did it come from?” he asked.  Sherlock didn’t answer, so John just rolled his eyes and typed the number into his phone.

            “I saw Mycroft this evening” he called out, changing the subject.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “Why?” he asked.  John shrugged his shoulders.

            “Said he wanted to see me” he answered.  Sherlock leaned back against the couch.

            “What did he want?” he asked.  John looked over his shoulder at him and smiled.

            “He asked me to look out for you” he replied.  Sherlock smiled slightly and shook his head.

            “Oh Mycroft, always the worried mother hen” he murmured under his breath before he cleared his throat.

            “Did you find the number?” he asked.  John hummed in reply before he looked at the name on the piece of paper, eyes widening.

            “Jennifer Wilson.  That was…hang on.  Wasn’t that the dead woman?” he asked, looking over at Sherlock, who nodded and stood up from the couch.

            “Yes.  That’s not important.  Just enter the number” he ordered.

            “Don’t order me around, Sherlock” John growled softly.  Sherlock nodded slightly.

            “Sorry” he apologized.  John let out a huff in response before he began to type to number into the phone.

            “Are you doing it?” Sherlock asked.

            “Yes” John answered.

            “Have you done it?” Sherlock demanded.  John gritted his teeth.

            “Sherlock!” he exclaimed.  The demon shrunk back slightly before he took a deep breath.

            “These words exactly: “What happened at Lauriston Gardens?  I must have blacked out”” he commanded.  John gave him the side eye before he started to type.

            ““Twenty-two Northumberland Street.  Please come”” the demon instructed.  John sighed; he had only gotten as far as “What happened at Lauriston Gdns?  I must have b-” when he suddenly looked at Sherlock.

            “You blacked out?” he exclaimed.  Sherlock looked at him as if he was stupid.

            “What?  No.  No!” he shouted as he walked over the coffee table to get to the kitchen instead of going around it.

            “Type and send it.  Quickly” he ordered as he walked into the kitchen, picked up a small pink suitcase from a chair, and brought it back into the living room.  Walking over to the dining table, he lifted one of the dining chair and flipped it around, setting it down in front of one of the two armchairs near the fireplace, placing the suitcase on the chair.  He then sat down in one of the armchairs while John was still typing.

            “Have you sent it?” he demanded.

            “What’s the address?” John asked.

            “Twenty-two Northumberland Street.  Hurry up!” Sherlock shouted impatiently.  John sent the message before he turned to glare at the demon, fire pricking at his fingertips.

            “What did I say about ordering me around?” he growled.  Sherlock glanced up at him before looking down at the fire on his fingertips, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks.

            “Sorry John.  It’s just this case…it’s just so exciting, I sort of lose my manners” he explained.  John rolled his eyes and snuffed out the fire before he noticed the case on the dining chair.

            “That’s…that’s the pink lady’s case.  That’s Jennifer Wilson’s case” he exclaimed.  Sherlock gave him a look before he sighed.

            “Yes, obviously” he replied.  John continued to stare, making Sherlock look up at him and roll his eyes.

            “Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn’t kill her” he stated sarcastically.  John looked at him and shook his head.

            “I never said that you did” he replied.  Sherlock gave him a funny look.

            “Why not?  Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it’s a perfectly logical assumption” he sneered.  John sighed and shook his head.

            “Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?” he asked.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Now and then, yes” he replied.  John ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply.

            “Okay” he murmured before he sat in the chair across from Sherlock, staring at the case.

            “How did you get this?” he demanded.

            “By looking” Sherlock replied.  John raised an eyebrow. 

            “Where?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed and leaned back in his chair.

            “The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens.  He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car.  Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it.  Wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake” he rambled as he ran his hand through his curly hair.  John looked at him before smiling almost fondly.

            “Cuppa?” he asked.  Sherlock looked at him and nodded slightly.

            “Please” he replied softly.  John nodded and stood up from his chair and walked into the kitchen.  He made two cups of Northern English tea and walked back into the living room, handing a cup to Sherlock.

            “Thank you” the demon whispered as he took a sip of the tea.

            “Now, you were saying about the case?” John asked as he sat down and took a sip of his own tea.  Sherlock nodded and took another sip of his tea before he placed the mug on the table next to him.

            “I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens…and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed” he continued before he chuckled.

            “Took me less than an hour to find the right skip” he declared.  John shook his head and sighed before he took a sip of his tea.

            “Pink.  You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?” he asked.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “Well, it had to be pink, obviously” he replied.  John sighed and leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea.

            “Why didn’t I think of that?” he whispered to himself.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Because you’re an idiot” he replied.  John looked up sharply at him, making him chuckle.

            “I’m kidding John, I know you’re not an idiot.  I wouldn’t have allowed you to stay in my flat if you were” he declared.  John furrowed his brow.

            “I thought you said that you didn’t kick us out because of Rosie” he spat.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “She was a factor, yes, but I also can’t stand idiots.  And you are no idiot, Dr. Watson” he assured with confidence and a bit of blush on his cheeks.  John smiled slightly before he shook his head and took another sip of tea as Sherlock pointed to the case.

            “Now, look.  Do you see what’s missing?” he asked.  John gave him a look.

            “From the case?  How could I?” he snapped.  Sherlock sighed.

            “Her phone.  Where’s her mobile phone?  There was no phone on the body, there’s not phone in the case.  We know she had one – that’s her number there; you just texted it” he stated.  John shrugged, feeling tired, but luckily the tea helped a little.

            “Maybe she left it at home” he suggested.  Sherlock hummed, grabbed his cup from the side table, and took a sip.

            “She has a string of lovers and she’s careful about it.  She never leaves her phone at home” he replied as he put the slip of paper back into the luggage label on the case before looking at John expectantly, who looked down at his phone and frowned.

            “Sherlock, why did I just send that text?” he asked, looking back at the demon.  Sherlock smiled mischievously.

            “Well, the question is: where is her phone now?” he asked.  John shook his head.

            “She could have lost it” he suggested.  Sherlock motioned for him to continue.

            “Yes, or…?” he prompted.

            “The murderer…you think the murderer has the phone?” John asked, looking at him with wide eyes.  Sherlock nodded slowly.

            “Maybe she left it when she left her case.  Maybe he took it from her for some reason.  Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone” he replied.  John was silent for a moment before he shook his head.

            “Sorry, what are we doing?  Did I just text a murderer?!  What good will that do?” he exclaimed.  As if on cue, his mobile began to ring.  He frowned as he picked it up and looked at the screen.

            “Withheld calling” he murmured before he looked across at Sherlock.

            “A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her.  If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer…” Sherlock started, pausing to wait for the phone to stop ringing.

            “…would panic” he finished before he flipped the lid of the suitcase closed and stood up, walking across the room to pick up his jacket.  As John continued to stare down at his phone, Sherlock put on his jacket and walked towards the door.

            “Have you talked to the police?” John called out.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “Four people are dead.  There isn’t time to talk to the police” he replied.

            “So, why are you talking to me?” John asked.  Sherlock looked at him fondly.

            “Because I like you.  And I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud” he explained.  John remained silent and Sherlock frowned.

            “Problem?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “Yeah, Sergeant Donovan” he replied.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “What about her?” he demanded. 

            “She said to stay from you.  For Rosie’s sake or some bullshit” John grumbled.  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

            “Ignore her.  She knows nothing.  Now come on” he ordered as he walked out the door.  John looked after him before he sighed and pushed himself out of his chair.

            “Damn it!” he shouted.  Before he ran after the demon, he walked into Rosie’s room, strapped on the baby carrier then walked over to Rosie’s crib and gently picked her up, placing her inside the carrier.  Once she was safely strapped to his chest, he walked out of her room and locked all of the doors in his flat, making sure that everything was locked and safe.  After he made sure everything was fine, he rushed out the door and sprinted after Sherlock.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Not long afterwards, John caught up to Sherlock in the street and they continued down the road.

            “Where are we going?” he asked, panting slightly as he cupped the back of Rosie’s head.

            “Northumberland Street’s a five-minute walk from here” Sherlock replied before he glanced at Rosie strapped to John’s chest.

            “You brought her” he murmured.  John blinked as he looked down at his daughter before looking back up at the demon.

            “Of course I did, I wasn’t going to leave her at home.  I’m not a bad parent” he stated.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Never said you were” he replied softly.  John huffed as they continued down the street.

            “Think he’s stupid enough to go there?” he asked.  Sherlock smiled expectantly.

            “No – I think he’s brilliant enough.  I love the brilliant ones.  They’re always so desperate to get caught” he explained.  John frowned.

            “Why?” he asked.

            “Appreciation!  Applause!  At long last the spotlight.  That’s the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience” he explained.  John looked at him and gave him a pointed look.

            “Yeah” he sneered.  Sherlock caught his implication and snickered as he spun around to indicate the entire area as they continued down the road.

            “This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city.  Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything.  Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go” he explained before he barred his teeth, revealing fangs.

            “Think!  Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them?  Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?  Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?” he asked.  John shook his head and stroked Rosie’s hair.

            “Dunno, who?” he asked.  Sherlock shrugged.

            “Haven’t the faintest.  Hungry?” he asked as he led John onwards into a small restaurant.  The waiter near the door clearly knew him and gestured to a reserved table at the front window.

            “Thank you, Billy” he thanked as he took off his coat and sat down on the bench side of the table, immediately turning sideways so that he could see clearly out of the window.  As Billy took the “Reserved” sign off the table, John sat down on the other bench seat, with his back to the window, and took off his jacket.

            “Twenty-two Northumberland Street.  Keep your eyes on it” Sherlock instructed, motioning to a building over the road.

            “He isn’t gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he?  He’d need to be mad” John teased.  Sherlock huffed.

            “He has killed four people” he reminded.  John tilted his head in agreement just as the manager/owner of the restaurant walked over, clearly pleased to see Sherlock.

            “Sherlock” the man greeted.  Sherlock and the man shook hands.

            “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free” the man declared as he set a couple of menus out on the table. 

            “On the house, for you and for your date” he continued, motioing to John, who blushed.

            “Do you want to eat?” Sherlock asked, looking at John.  John looked back at him and nodded before he turned to the owner.

            “Thank you” he thanked.

            “This man got me off a murder charge” the man explained, motioning to Sherlock, who smirked and motioned back to the man.

            “This is Angelo.  He’s a Manticore” he introduced.  John and Angelo shook hands, Angelo smiling down at sleeping Rosie.

            “Beautiful child” he complimented.  John smiled slightly.

            “Thank you” he thanked, just as Sherlock cleared his throat.

            “Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking” he explained.  Angelo smiled at John.

            “He cleared my name” he explained, making Sherlock roll his eyes.

            “I cleared it a bit.  Anything happening opposite?” he asked.  Angelo shook his head.

            “Nothing” he replied before he looked at John again.

            “But for this man, I’d have gone to prison” he stated.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “You did go to prison” he reminded.  Angelo smiled as he looked at John.

            “I’ll get a candle for the table.  It’s more romantic” he explained before he walked away.

            “Thank you” John called out as Sherlock put down his menu.

            “You may as well eat.  We might have a long wait” he stated.  John frowned.

            “Are you not going to eat?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Not hungry” he replied.  John furrowed his brow.

            “Sherlock, I don’t care if you’re an immortal being, you need to eat, do you hear me?” he growled.  Sherlock looked at him in shock before he sighed.

            “Fine” he grumbled as he picked up his menu.  John smirked as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Rosie’s hair in triumph.  Once Angelo came back and placed a tea light on the table, he turned to the two men. 

            “So?  What will you be having?” he asked.

            “I’ll have a small bowl of fettuccine alfredo” John ordered.  Sherlock sighed.

            “I’ll have whatever he’s having” he ordered.  Angelo looked at him, shocked.

            “You normally never order, Sherlock.  What changed your mind?” he asked.  Sherlock shrugged.

            “Don’t know” he replied.  Angelo shrugged and turned away from the table, heading towards the kitchen to place the order.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Later, both Sherlock and John were eating in silence, enjoying their dinner.  About halfway through, Sherlock stopped eating and looked at John.

            “Why did you bring Rosie?” he asked.  John stopped eating as well and put down his fork before looking at him pointedly.

            “Because one, some bastard drugged her, and two, I’m not just going to leave her at home by herself!  She’s two, Sherlock!” he hissed.  Sherlock chuckled as he shook his head.

            “Oh John, she’s fine.  The drug’s worn off by now and she should be sleeping just as comfortably as she did with the drug” he stated.  John breathed out a sigh of relief and started eating his pasta again.

            “So why, John?  I know the drug’s not your main concern” Sherlock deduced.  John smiled as he finished his bite of food before placing his fork down once more.

            “Because it’s like I said, Sherlock.  I’m not going to leave her in the flat, alone.  And because I know that she’s the safest when she’s with us.  Even though we’re running around London, looking for a serial murderer, I know that she will always be the safest with the both of us” he explained.  Sherlock nodded; there was the answer he was looking for.  The two went back to eating when Sherlock looked up, his eyes widening.

            “Look across the street.  Taxi” he stated.  John twisted in his seat to look out the window to where a taxi had parked at the side of the road with its back end towards the restaurant.

            “Stopped.  Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out” the demon observed.  In the rear seat of the taxi, the male passenger was looking through the side windows as if trying to see somebody.

            “Why a taxi?  Oh, that’s clever.  Is it clever?  Why is it clever?” Sherlock whispered to himself.  John frowned.

            “That’s him?” he asked, confused.

            “Don’t stare” Sherlock ordered.  John huffed and turned to look at him.

            “You’re staring” he reminded.  Sherlock smirked.

            “We can’t both stare” he replied as he got to his feet, grabbing his coat and scarf before heading for the door.  John quickly stood up and followed after him, leaving a small tip on the table.  Outside the door, Sherlock shrugged himself into his coat while keeping his eyes fixed on the taxi.  The passenger continued to look around him, then turned and looked out the back window, his gaze falling on the restaurant.  He stared at it for a few moments while Sherlock stared back at him before he turned towards the front of the vehicle and the taxi began to pull away from the curb.  Sherlock immediately headed towards it without bothering to check the road that he was running into and was almost run over by a car coming from his left.  The driver slammed on the brakes and stopped the car but Sherlock, always keen to take the quickest route, allowed his forward impetus to carry him onto the top of the bonnet.  He rolled over the bonnet, landed on his feet on the other side, and then ran after the taxi.  As the driver of the car angrily sounded his horn, John wrapped one arm around Rosie while putting the other on the hood of the bonnet, vaulting over the front of the car, apologizing to the driver as he went.

            “Sorry” he apologized as he raced after the demon, clutching Rosie to his chest as he ran.  He chased after Sherlock, who ran a few yards up the road before realizing that he wasn’t going to catch the taxi and slowed to a halt.  John soon caught up to him, stopping beside him, panting heavily.

            “I got the cab number” he panted.

            “Good for you” Sherlock replied as he raised his hands up to either side of his head and concentrated, calling up a mental map of the local area, overlaying it with images of the streets along the route which he calculated the taxi would take.

            “Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights” he rambled.  Once he worked out the route, he lifted his head to see a man unlocking a door to a nearby building.  Instantly his mind flashed up a signpost saying, “ALTERNATIVE ROUTE.”  He quickly raced towards the man and grabbed him, shoving him out of the way before charging into the building.

            “Oi!” the man shouted.  John ran after Sherlock, looking at the man apologetically as he clung to Rosie.

            “Sorry” he apologized before he raced after Sherlock.  The two of them raced up the stairs and out onto a metal spiral fire escape staircase leading to the roof.  Sherlock, the lanky git, took the steps two or even three at a time, leaving John to struggle to keep up with him as he scurried up behind him.

            “Come on, John!” Sherlock shouted.

            “I’m trying Sherlock!  You try running with a sleeping toddler!” John shouted back.  Reaching the top of the stairs, Sherlock ran to the edge and looked over before noticing a shorter metal spiral staircase leading down the side of the building to another door one floor lower.  He galloped down the stairs and climbed onto the railing before leaping across the gap to the next building.  John quickly scrambled onto the railing and followed after him.  Sherlock ran across to the other side of the roof and again leap across to the next building.  John raced after him, but soon skidded to a halt when he realized that the gap may be too big for him to jump across.  As if in sympathy, pedestrian traffic lights on the ground changed from the green “It’s safe to cross” sign to the red “Stop and wait” sign.  John hesitated and looked down at the drop beneath him, clutching Rosie tighter to his chest.

            “Come on John!  We’re losing him!” Sherlock shouted from the other side.  John sighed before he backed up a few paces, bracing himself and clutching Rosie tightly.  As the traffic light changed back to the “Safe to Cross”, he took a run-up and leapt the gap.  Dropping down onto a walkway along the side of the building, the demon and human ran onwards.  The taxi continued its journey on the ground as the boys galloped down another metal staircase before running to a ledge, dropping down into an alleyway before running onwards again.  Sherlock led John down the alleyways as, in his head, a map showed their location in comparison to where the taxi must be.  Their paths were beginning to get closer as they headed towards a point where Sherlock and John would exit the alleyway onto D’Arblay Street, into which the taxi was just turning.  Sherlock turned the corner and raced down the last part of the alley, only to see the taxi drive past the end, heading to the left.

            “Damn it!” he shouted before he raced out of the alley and turned right.

            “This way!” he roared.  Instictively, John turned left in pursuit of the taxi, making Sherlock groan.

            “No, this way John!” he shouted.  John blushed slightly.

            “Sorry” he called back as he turned and headed back in the opposite direction, following Sherlock.  In Sherlock’s mind-map, he picked a new point where he and John could intercept the cab.  The two men ran down the street, taking a shorter route than the taxi, which was being diverted by various road signs, taking it the long way around.  They headed down more alleyways and side streets towards the interception point in Wardour Street and finally, at the precise point which his mental map predicted, Sherlock raced out of the side street and hurled himself into the path of the approaching cab, which screeched to a halt as he crashed hard into the bonnet.  Scrabbling at his left coat pocket, Sherlock reached in and pulled out an I.D. badge and flashed it at the driver as he ran to the right-hand side of the cab

            “Police!  Open up!” he roared.  Panting heavily, he ripped open the rear door and stared in at the passenger, who looked back at him anxiously.  Instantly Sherlock straightened up in exasperation as John joined him.

            “No” he whispered as he leaned down to examine the passenger again.

            “Teeth, tan: what—Californian?” he murmured as he looked at the floor of the cab.

            “L.A., Santa Monica.  Just arrived” he grumbled, straightening up and barring his teeth, revealing fangs.  John could tell he was irritated and frustrated; to be honest, he was feeling the same way.

            “How can you possibly know that?” he asked softly as he stroked Rosie’s soft blonde hair.  Sherlock looked over his shoulder at him before he motioned to the luggage at the passenger’s feet.

            “The luggage” he replied.  John looked down at the suitcase on the floor of the cab and the label showed that the man had flown from LAX to LHR.  Sherlock then looked at the passenger.

            “It’s probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?” he demanded.  The passenger looked at him with wide, scared eyes.

            “Sorry — are guys the police?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded, flashing the I.D.

            “Indeed.  Everything alright?” he replied.  The man in the cab nodded, smiling slightly.  Sherlock paused for a moment, wondering how to finish the conversation, before he smiled falsely at the man.

            “Welcome to London” he greeted before he immediately turned and walked away, leaving John to stare blankly for a moment before he stepped closer to the taxi door, looking at the passenger.

            “Er, any problems, just let us know” he stated.  As the man nodded, John smiled politely before he slammed the cab door shut and walked over to Sherlock, who stood a few yards behind the cab.

            “Basically, just a cab that happened to slow down” he observed as he stroked Rosie’s hair.  Sherlock nodded, sighing.

            “Basically” he agreed.

            “Not the murderer” John stated.

            “Not the murderer, no” Sherlock answer exasperatedly.

            “Wrong country, good alibi” John murmured.  Sherlock nodded.

            “As they go” he agreed.  John then noticed how Sherlock was switching the I.D. card from one hand to another, making him raise an eyebrow.

            “Hey, where…where did you get this?” he demanded, reaching for the card.  Sherlock handed it to him, allowing him to look it over.

            “Detective Inspector Lestrade?” he asked, looking up at the demon.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Yeah.  I pickpocket him when he’s annoying.  You can keep that one, I can always steal another” he replied.  John was silent for a moment before he chuckled and shook his head, making Sherlock raise an eyebrow.

            “What?” he asked.  John looked up at him.

            “Nothing, just: “Welcome to London”?” he teased.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him before he chuckled as well.  He then looked down the road to where a police officer had apparently gone to investigate why the cab had stopped in the middle of the road.  The passenger had gotten out and was pointing towards them.  He then looked over at John, who was pressing a soft kiss to Rosie’s sleeping head, and smiled softly.

            “Got your breath back?” he asked.  John looked up at him and nodded.

            “Ready when you are” he replied.  Sherlock nodded and soon they were off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if people who previously read this story remember this chapter, you'll remember that I left Rosie in the flat instead of letting John take her with him. Well, I decided to change it and bring Rosie along cuz I don't want no comments about how Rosie shouldn't be left alone at home cuz she's only two or whatever. I'm the writer, I can do whatever the hell I want. But whatever, it's in the past, I'm not bitter. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for all of the lovely comments, they're really sweet. Please continue to leave them, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	9. Drug Bust

Sherlock and John soon returned to John’s flat, smiling and giggling outside of the door.

            “Okay, that was ridiculous” John murmured.  Sherlock nodded, making John giggle more.

            “That was the most ridiculous think I’ve ever done” he exclaimed.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “And you invaded Afghanistan” he teased before he looked down at Rosie.

            “You think she’s alright?  I mean, we did sort of run around London…” he asked.  John stopped laughing and looked down at his daughter in concern.

            “I don’t know…” he replied softly.  Sherlock hummed before he reached out and gently placed his hand on Rosie’s head, shutting his eyes.

            “There” he murmured after a moment.  John frowned.

            “What did you do?” he asked.  Sherlock looked up at him. 

            “Just made sure that she didn’t have Shaken Baby Syndrome, that’s all.  She’s perfectly fine now” he declared.  John nodded before he stepped forward and unlocked the door, letting Sherlock step inside first before following behind.  Once they were inside, he locked the door as Sherlock headed over to his chair, sitting down.  As he sat down, John walked over to Rosie’s room, unbuttoning the buttons that cradled his daughter’s head on the baby carrier before unbuttoning one side of the carrier, slipping his daughter out and walking her over to her crib.  He placed her inside and tucked her in before he placed the baby carrier on her rocking chair, walking out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind him as he left.  Once Rosie had been put down, he headed over to his chair when there was suddenly a knock on the door.  He froze and looked over at Sherlock, who narrowed his eyes at the door.

            “Now who could that be?” he murmured.  John shrugged.

            “I don’t know.  I’ll go look” he replied as he turned and headed towards the door, opening it to reveal Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Philip Anderson, and a few more police officers standing before him.

            “Detective, Sergeant, Anderson, what are you doing here?” he asked.  The officers didn’t answer as Anderson rudely shoved him out of the way and entered his flat, Donovan, Lestrade, and the other officers following after him.

            “Excuse me?  What are you doing here?  In my flat?” John demanded as he slammed the door shut behind them.  Lestrade looked back at him before motioning to Sherlock, who narrowed his eyes as the Detective Inspector.

            “Well, I’d knew he’d find the case.  I’m not stupid” he replied.  John shook his head and Sherlock growled.

            “You can’t just break into his flat” the demon exclaimed.  Lestrade gave him a look.

            “And you can’t withhold evidence.  And I didn’t break into your flat, you let me in” he replied, looking at John.

            “Well, what the hell are they doing here?!” John shouted, motioning to the police officers everywhere.

            “Drug bust” Anderson replied, popping his head out of the kitchen.  John and Sherlock turned to look at him.

            “Drug bust?!  You do realize that I am a single father with a two-year-old daughter, right?  I’m not stupid enough to be having drugs anywhere in my house!” John shouted.  Anderson scoffed.

            “If you don’t have drugs in your flat, why is every room locked?” he asked.  John rolled his eyes.

            “I went out to dinner with Sherlock and I had to make sure that no one would break in, so I locked everything up.  Is that so wrong?” he spat.  Anderson didn’t reply as he walked out of the kitchen and over to Rosie’s room.  John’s eyes widened.

            “Anderson, don’t you dare go into that room” he warned.  Anderson looked over his shoulder.

            “And why not?  Got something to hide, Dr. Watson?” he sneered as he tried to open the door, only to find it locked.

            “Ah…this is now the only locked room in the entire flat…I wonder why that is” he purred darkly.  Sherlock quickly got out of his chair and joined John at his side, glaring at Anderson.

            “Anderson, if John says to not go into that room, you best not go into that room” he growled.  Anderson ignored him and John as he slammed his heel into the door near the keyhole.  The door splintered and cracked, slamming it against the inside wall of the room.  All was quiet for a moment before a loud wail echoed throughout the house.  Anderson’s eyes widened, and he slowly turned to see Sherlock snarling at him, heterochromic eyes now black, John completely surrounded by flames, and Lestrade…well, Lestrade has shifted into a large, snarling, silver nine-tailed fox.

            “Um…” Anderson started but before he could even get a word out, a chill suddenly fell over the room, making everyone in the flat freeze as the ground began to shake and rumble before a large cloud of smoke and ash appeared.  When the cloud cleared, Mycroft Holmes stepped forward, dressed in his immaculate suit, umbrella in hand.  When everyone looked at him, they noticed that his eyes were no longer blue, but red, the color of blood.

            **“WHO MADE ROSAMUND MARY WATSON CRY?”** he growled demonically.  Sherlock, John, even Donovan, pointed at Anderson, who looked like he was about to shit his pants.  Mycroft turned and glared at him before he stormed over and grabbed him by his neck, lifting him into the air.  Anderson gasped and gagged, clawing at Mycroft’s hand as it slowly squeezed tighter and tighter around his throat.

            **“YOU MADE ROSIE CRY?”** Mycroft roared.  Anderson squeaked out a soft “yes”, making Mycroft tighten his grip even more.

            **“YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT, YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF HUMAN FLESH”** he snarled as he tightened his grip even further.  When Anderson’s face began to turn blue, Lestrade quickly shifted back and stepped forward, placing a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.

            “Myc, enough” he whispered.  Mycroft looked over his shoulder at the man before he sighed and dropped Anderson with disdain, watching as he crumbled to the floor, coughing and choking.  Mycroft took a deep breath, calming himself, before he stepped over Anderson and entered Rosie’s bedroom.  Sherlock flicked his eyes back to normal, John snuffed out the flames, taking a deep breath, and Lestrade cleared his throat before they entered Rosie’s room and joined Mycroft around Rosie’s crib, the four of them staring down at the wailing, red faced toddler whose arms were reaching up in the air with her tiny hands, wanting someone to comfort her.  John quickly reached into the crib and cradled her to his chest, stroking her back lovingly.

            “It’s alright, it’s alright, shh, I’m here, I’m here” he whispered as he began to bounce on the balls of his feet, trying to soothe the crying toddler.  Mycroft, Lestrade, and Sherlock watched him for a moment before Sherlock walked over to him and placed a hand on his arm.  John stopped bouncing and looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

            “Give her to me, John, I’ll try to get her to sleep.  Go deal with Anderson, I can see you want to in your eyes” the demon whispered.  John nodded and carefully handed his daughter over to the demon, who immediately began bouncing on the balls of his feet, before turning on his heels and walking out the doors towards Anderson, who looked at him with fear in his eyes.

            “I told you not to go in that room.  I bloody told you and yet you decided to do it anyway.  Are you fucking mad?” he spat, stepping towards Anderson.  Before the man could answer, Lestrade and Mycroft were at his side.

            “Get out” Mycroft ordered, glaring at him.  Anderson looked at Mycroft incredulously.

            “You can’t order me around –” he started when Mycroft suddenly pulled the fabric part of his umbrella to reveal a rapier, which he pointed at Anderson’s face, growling.

 **“Oh, but I can.  Now, get out”** he ordered.  Anderson looked over at Lestrade, hoping that his boss would have his back, but Lestrade just waved a dismissive hand.

            “Out, Anderson.  Just get the fuck out” he spat.  Anderson nodded and quickly gathered his things, dashing out the flat.  The other police officers looked towards John, Mycroft, and Lestrade, wondering what they should do next.  Lestrade waved a hand towards them as well and no one spoke until it was just John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Sherlock in the flat.

            “Thank you, Mycroft” John whispered, still rather angry.  Mycroft looked over at him and nodded as he sheathed his sword back into his umbrella.

            “Of course, John.  I am just as protective of the child as you and Sherlock are” he replied before he smirked.

            “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he teased.  John looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

            “Excuse me?” he replied.  Mycroft eyed him up and down before his eyes widened, a small smile gracing his face.

            “You’re an angel” he declared, almost in wonder.  John frowned.

            “I’m a what?” he asked.

            “Angel” Lestrade answered.  John shook his head.

            “No, I couldn’t be an angel” he argued.

            “Oh, but you are, John” Sherlock called out as he walked out of Rosie’s room, holding the now sleeping toddler.  John looked over at him before looking back at Mycroft, confusion written all over his face.

            “But I can’t—” he started when Lestrade held up a hand.

            “John, I may not be a Holmes brother, but even I know an angel when I see one” he stated.  John sighed deeply as he ran a hand through his hair, looking and feeling much older than he actually was.

            “How?” he whispered. 

            “It would explain where your fire comes from.  All angels have some sort of element manipulation and yours seems to be fire” Mycroft explained.  John blinked before he sighed deeply again.

            “I’m…going to make a cup of tea to calm down.  Would you boys like some?” he asked, looking at the men before him.  The men nodded in response, so John slowly turned and walked towards the kitchen, still a little dazed from the information that he was just hit with.  While he was in the kitchen, Sherlock turned to Lestrade.

            “So, where were we?” he asked.  Lestrade sighed before he cleared his throat.

            “We found Rachel” he replied.  Mycroft and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “Who is she, Gregory?” Mycroft asked.  Sherlock gave him a surprised side-eye before he looked at Lestrade, still stroking Rosie’s back.

            “Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter” the kitsune answered.

            “Her daughter?  Why would she write her daughter’s name?  Why?” Sherlock murmured with a frowned.

            “Never mind that.  We found the case” a voice called out.  Mycroft, Sherlock, and Lestrade turned to see Anderson stepping back into the flat.  Mycroft and Sherlock growled dangerously while Lestrade looked at him in shock.

            “I thought I told you to get out!” the Detective Inspector shouted.  Anderson ignored and motioned to the pink suitcase.

            “According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath” he sneered, glaring at Sherlock.  Sherlock growled and handed Rosie over to Lestrade before he stormed up to Anderson, looming over him.

            **“I am not a psychopath, Anderson, I am a high-functioning sociopath.  Do your research”** he spat before he turned back to Lestrade, who was rocking Rosie in his arms.

            “You need to bring Rachel in.  You need to question her.  I need to question her” he stated.  Lestrade shook his head.

            “She’s dead” he replied.  Sherlock’s heterochromic eyes twinkled.

            “Excellent!” he exclaimed.  Mycroft looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

            “How, when, and why?  Is there a connection?  There has to be” Sherlock rambled.  Lestrade sighed.

            “Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for fourteen years.  Technically, she was never alive.  Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago” he explained.  Mycroft grimaced, looking down at Rosie with something close to sadness while Sherlock looked confused.

            “No, that’s…that’s not right.  How…why would she do that?  Why?” he demanded. 

            “Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?!  Yup – sociopath; I’m seeing it now” Anderson sneered.  Mycroft looked over at him, eyes flashing, while Sherlock just looked at him exasperatedly.

            “She didn’t think about her daughter.  She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails.  She was dying; it took effort.  It would have hurt” he snapped.  Just then, John walked back into the room, carrying four tea cups.

            “You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it.  Well, maybe he, I don’t know, talks to them?  Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow” he suggested as he handed the first cup to Sherlock, the second cup to Mycroft, and then the third cup to Lestrade, who took it gratefully.  He then took a sip of his own tea before he noticed that Anderson was in the room with them.

            “What the bloody hell are you doing here?!” he spat, fire prickling at his fingertips.

            “He’ll be leaving soon” Mycroft growled softly, almost like a promise.  Sherlock then turned towards John, a frown on his face.

            “Yes, but that was ages ago.  Why would she still be upset?” he demanded.  Silence soon fell over the flat and he glanced around the room, suddenly feeling embarrassed, before looking awkwardly at John.

            “Not good?” he asked softly.  John nodded and looked over at Rosie, who was asleep in Lestrade’s arms.

            “Bit not good, yeah” he replied.  Sherlock shook it off before stepping towards him.

            “Yeah, but if you were dying, if you’d been murdered, in your very last few seconds, what would you say?” he demanded.

            “Please, God, let me live” John replied, almost instantly, pain in his eyes.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Oh, use your imagination!” he exclaimed.  John looked up into his heterochromic eyes.

            “I don’t have to” he replied softly.  Sherlock looked down at him and immediately recognized the pain in his face, pausing momentarily as he blinked a couple of times, shifting his feet apologetically.

            “Sorry” he whispered before he cleared his throat and shook his head.

            “But if you were clever, really clever…Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever” he rambled.  Just then, Sally Donovan popped her head into the flat.

            “Hey demon!” she called out.  Sherlock and Mycroft turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.  Sally blushed before she pointed at Sherlock.

            “Your taxi’s here” she stated before she shut the door.  Sherlock frowned and looked at the others in the flat.

            “I didn’t order a taxi” he murmured.  Mycroft crossed his arms.

            “Are you certain, brother mine?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded before he threw out his hands.

            “Shut up, everybody, shut up!  Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe.  I’m trying to think.  Anderson, face the other way.  You’re putting me off” he growled, pointing at the man.

            “What?  My face is?!” Anderson exclaimed, taking a step towards Sherlock when John pulled out his SIG-Sauer P226R and Mycroft unsheathed his rapier, pointing it at Anderson’s face.

            “Everybody, quiet and still.  Anderson, turn your back” Lestrade ordered.  Anderson’s eyes widened.

            “Oh, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed, making John cock his gun.

            **“Your back, now”** he growled.  Anderson’s eyes widened and he quickly turned his back as Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think.

            “Come on, think.  Quick!” he shouted softly to himself.

            “Oi, freak, what about your taxi?!” Sally shouted, walking back into the flat.

            **“BE SILENT DONOVAN!”** Sherlock shouted as his eyes suddenly snapped open in realization.

            “Oh” he murmured.  Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

            “Got something, have you?” he asked.

            “Ah!  She was clever, clever yes!” Sherlock exclaimed before he looked at Anderson, who now had turned back to face him.

            “She’s cleverer than you lot, and she’s dead!  Do you see, do you get it?  She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it.  She planted it on him” he shouted, smirking.  Rosie suddenly let out a soft whine, making Sherlock turn his attention towards her.  He took a deep breath and looked apologetically at John, who was looking at him with narrowed eyes.

            “Sorry” he whispered before he cleared his throat.

            “When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death.  She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer” he explained softly.  Lestrade raised an eyebrow as he started bouncing Rosie again.

            “How?” he asked.  Sherlock looked over at him, shocked.

            “Wha…?  What do you mean, how?” he demanded.  Lestrade gave him a look, making Sherlock shake his head.

            “Rachel!” he exclaimed. 

            “Sherlock, lower your volume” Mycroft commanded.  Sherlock looked over at him and nodded before he looked at everyone in the flat.

            “Don’t you see?  Rachel!” he exclaimed, softer this time.  Everyone gave him blank looks, making him laugh.

            “Oh, look at you lot.  You’re all so vacant.  Is it nice not being me?  It must be so relaxing” he sneered before he cleared his throat, becoming serious.

            “Rachel is not a name” he stated sternly.

            “Then, what is it?” John demanded.

            “John, on the luggage, there’s a lab.  Email address” Sherlock stated.  John raised an eyebrow before he walked over to the case and looked at the label.

            “jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk” he called out.  Mycroft’s eyes widened as he quickly walked over to the dining room table and snapped his fingers, making a laptop appear out of thin air.  Sherlock looked over at him as he sat down at the table and opened the laptop, booting it up.

            “What, exactly, are you doing?” he asked.  Mycroft looked over his shoulder at him and smirked.

            “You’re not the only Holmes who can make deductions, brother mine.  Besides, you’ve been too slow.  She didn’t have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it’s a smartphone, it’s email enabled” he explained as he pulled up Mephone’s website and typed the email address into the “username” box.

            “So, there was a website for her account.  The username is her email address…” he started as he began to type into the password box.

            “…and all together now, the password is?” he asked.  Lestrade looked over at him and smiled.

            “Rachel” he replied.  Anderson shook his head and crossed his arms.

            “So we can read her emails.  So what?” he sneered, making Sherlock look over at him.

            “Anderson, don’t talk out loud.  You lower the I.Q. of the whole street” he snapped.  Mycroft smirked at his brother’s insult before he turned back to the laptop.

            “We can do much more than just read her emails.  It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS, which means if you lose it, you can locate it online.  She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her” he explained.  Lestrade frowned.

            “Unless he got rid of it” he replied.  John looked at him and shook his head.

            “We know he didn’t” he stated as Mycroft continued to stare at the laptop screen impatiently.

            “Come on, come on.  Quickly!” he exclaimed.

            “Freak, this taxi driver…” Sally shouted.  Sherlock looked over at her and narrowed his eyes.

            “Why aren’t you gone yet?” he snapped.  While he was glaring at Donovan, John walked over to Mycroft and looked over his shoulder, both men watching as a clock spun round on the website, claiming that the phone would be located in under three minutes.

            “We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter” Sherlock ordered, looking over at Lestrade.  Sally looked at him with annoyance on her face as a man silently walked up behind her.

            “We’re gonna have to move fast.  This phone battery won’t last forever” he stated.

            “We’ll just have a map reference, not a name” Lestrade replied as he stroked Rosie’s soft blonde hair.

            “It’s a start!” Sherlock exclaimed.  Meanwhile, on the computer, a map appeared and was now zooming in on the location of the phone, making John and Mycroft’s eyes widen.

            “Sherlock” Mycroft called out.

            “It narrows it down from anyone in London.  It’s the first proper lead we’ve had” Sherlock snapped at Lestrade.

            “Sherlock” John tried this time.  Sherlock’s head snapped towards him and he quickly walked over to him and his brother.

            “What is it?  Quickly, where?” he demanded.  On the screen, the map was now indicating the precise location of the phone.  Mycroft frowned.

            “It’s here.  In John’s flat” he stated.  Sherlock frowned as well.

            “How can it be here?  How?” he demanded.

            “Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere” Lestrade offered.  Sherlock looked up and over his shoulder at the kitsune.

            “What?  And I didn’t notice?  Me?  I didn’t notice?” he snapped.

            “Anyway, we texted him and he called back” John explained, looking over at Lestrade as well.  Lestrade sighed and pulled a walkie-talkie out of his coat pocket as he shifted Rosie to one arm so that he could speak into the device.

            “Guys, we’re also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim—” he started.  While he was talking into the radio, Sherlock looked over at Mycroft and John, drawing up a conversation he had had with the angel not too long ago.

            _‘Who do we trust, even if we don’t know them?’_ he thought to himself.  Outside of the door, the man had reached the top of the stairs.  Wearing a cardigan and a cap on his head to obscure his face, he had a badge in a leather holder on a cord around his neck that was licensed for a London cab driver.

            _‘Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?  Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?’_ Sherlock’s thought continued.  As he was lost in thought, on the landing, the taxi driver took out a pink smartphone from his pocket and pressed the screen to send a text.  A moment later, Sherlock’s own phone trilled with a text alert.  Taking his phone from his jacket pocket, the demon looked at the message, which simply read: COME WITH ME.  As he turned his head towards the door, the taxi driver turned around and calmly headed off down the stairs.  John and Mycroft both noticed Sherlock’s odd silence, so they both turned to look at him.

            “Brother?  You alright?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “What?  Yeah, yeah, I-I’m fine” Sherlock replied vacantly, watching the shadowy figure walk away from Donovan’s back.

            “So, how can the phone be here?” John asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Dunno” he replied.  John frowned and pulled his mobile from his pocket. 

            “I’ll try it again” he suggested.  Sherlock nodded and walked past Anderson, heading towards the door.  Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

            “Where are you going?” he demanded.

            “Fresh air.  Just popping outside for a moment.  Won’t be long” Sherlock called back as he walked past Donovan.  John frowned as the demon left the room.

            “You sure you’re alright?” he called out.

            “Fine!” Sherlock shouted back as he walked down the steps of John’s flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, John's an angel! Isn't that cool? Also, DO NOT fuck with Mycroft Holmes. He WILL fuck you up and it will make you want to shit your pants. Anderson learned that the hard way.
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	10. Taxi for Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock walked down the stairs until he came face to face with a Lethifold, a man named Jeff Hope, who was leaning casually against the side of a cab parked at curb.

            “Taxi for Sherlock ‘olmes” Jeff called out.  Sherlock stepped forward, narrowing his eyes.

            “I didn’t order a taxi” he stated.  Jeff smirked.

            “Doesn’t mean you don’t need one” he replied.  As Sherlock stared at him, his eyes widened.

            “You’re the cabbie.  The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street” he exclaimed as his mind flashbacked to when the American man was sitting in the back of the cab outside of the restaurant, turning his head to the front.  In the driver’s seat, the Lethifold looked over his shoulder and through the rear window of the cab before turning around, driving away.

            “It was _you,_ not your passenger” he whispered.  Jeff smiled slightly.

            “See?  No one ever thinks about the cabbie.  It’s like you’re invisible; just the back of an ‘ead.  Proper advantage for a serial killer” he replied.

            “Is this a confession?” Sherlock asked as he walked towards the cabbie.  Jeff chuckled.

            “Oh, yeah.  An’ I’ll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won’t run.  I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise” he teased.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

            “Why?” he demanded.  Jeff smirked.

            “Because you’re not gonna do that” he stated.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “Am I not?” he asked.  Jeff shook his head.

            “I didn’t kill those four people, Mr. ‘olmes.  I spoke to ‘em…and they killed themselves.  An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing” he murmured, leaning forward.

            “I will never tell you what I said” he whispered.  Sherlock stared at him and after a moment, Jeff straightened and started to walk around the front of the cab.

            “No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result” Sherlock stated.  Jeff stopped walking and turned towards him.

            “An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died.  What kind of result do **you** care about?” he asked, turning around again and continuing around to the driver’s door.  Getting in, he sat down and shut the door, settling in his seat and ignoring Sherlock.  Biting his lip, Sherlock walked closer to the cab, glancing back at John’s flat before leaning down to look into the open side window of the cab.

            “If I _wanted_ to understand, what would I do?” he asked.  Jeff smirked. 

            “Let me take you for a ride” he replied, turning towards him.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “So you can kill me too?” he asked.  Jeff smiled and shook his head.

            “I don’t wanna kill you, Mr. ‘olmes.  I’m gonna talk to yer…and then you’re gonna kill yourself” he purred, turning to face the front again.  Sherlock straightened up, eyes lost in thought as he considered the situation while Jeff sat calmly, gazing out the front window before smiling in satisfaction as the rear door opened.  The cab dipped as Sherlock got in and then the door slammed shut, giving Jeff the hint to start the engine and soon, they were off.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Inside the flat, John had his phone to his ear as he looked out the window, watching as the cab pulled away.

            “He just got in a cab” he called out before he turned to Lestrade and Mycroft, who now was the one carrying Rosie.

            “It’s Sherlock.  He just drove off in a cab” he repeated as Sally stepped inside the flat, scoffing.

            “He does that” she sneered before she turned to Lestrade and Mycroft.

            “He bloody left again.  We’re wasting our time!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.  John looked at her and shook his head before he turned back to Mycroft and Lestrade.

            “I’m calling the phone.  It’s ringing out” he stated.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the cab, the pink phone that Jeff had kept from Jennifer Wilson rang in the well beside his seat, making Sherlock stare at him while the phone continued to ring.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the flat, Lestrade and Mycroft watched John as he continued to hold the phone to his ear.

            “If it’s ringing, it’s not here” Lestrade stated, making John lower his phone and walk over to Mycroft’s laptop.

            “I’ll try the search again” he murmured as Sally walked over to them, scowling.

            “Does it matter?  Does _any_ of it?  You know, he’s just a lunatic and he’ll _always_ let you down, and you’re wasting your time.  _All_ our time!” she shouted.  In Mycroft’s arms, Rosie let out a whine, making everyone’s head whip towards the sound.  Mycroft looked down at the toddler in his arms and smiled softly, hushing her.  Once she had quieted down, he looked up and glared at Sally.

            “Lower your volume, Sergeant Donovan, or I will have no qualms about running you through with my rapier” he growled, motioning to the umbrella in Lestrade’s hand.  Sally’s eyes widened and she lowered her head in apology.

            “Sorry sir” she whispered.  Mycroft nodded and looked around the flat before he cleared his throat.

            “Everyone out” he ordered.  Sally and Anderson nodded and quickly vacated the flat, leaving only John, Lestrade, and Mycroft.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the cab, Sherlock watched as the London scenery passed by.

            “How did you find me?” he asked.  Jeff smiled.

            “Oh, I recognized yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab.  Sherlock ‘olmes!  I was warned about you.  I’ve been on your website too.  Brilliant stuff; loved it!” he gushed.

            “Who warned you about me?” Sherlock demanded. 

            “Just someone out there who’s noticed you” Jeff replied, smiling.  Sherlock’s eyes widened.

            “Who?” he demanded, leaning forward and looking closely at the side of Jeff’s neck before noticing a photograph of a young boy and girl attached to the dashboard of the cab.  He put that in the back of his mind before he looked at Jeff.

            “Who would notice _me_?” he asked, Jeff meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror for a brief moment.

            “You’re too modest, Mr. ‘olmes” he replied.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “I’m really not” he stated.  Jeff smiled.

            “You’ve got yourself a fan” he admitted.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he nonchalantly sat back in his seat.

            “Tell me more” he instructed.  Jeff smirked.

            “That’s all you’re gonna…” he started, pausing for dramatic effect.

            “…in _this_ lifetime” he finished softly.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in John’s flat, John was sitting in his armchair while Mycroft and Lestrade sat on the couch, the three of them nursing cups of tea in their hands.

            “Why did he do that?  Why did he have to leave?” Lestrade asked, looking at John, who shook his head.

            “You know him better than I do” he replied as he looked over at Mycroft, who was humming softly to keep Rosie asleep.  The elder demon didn’t respond while Lestrade groaned.

            “I’ve known him for five years and no, I don’t” he snapped.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “Then why do you put up with him?” he demanded.  Lestrade threw his hands up in the air.

            “Because I’m bloody desperate, that’s why!” he exclaimed, making Mycroft look over at him and motion with his eyes to think of Rosie, who was asleep in his arms.  Lestrade then let out a sigh.

            “And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man.  And I think one day, if we’re very, very _lucky_ , he might even be a _good_ one” he murmured before he placed his tea cup on the side table and shifted into a large, silver, nine-tailed fox.  He then rested his head on Mycroft’s thigh and yawned, revealing very sharp, very large canines.  After that statement, the two men and fox just sat in silence with John drinking his tea, Mycroft softly humming to keep Rosie asleep, and Lestrade with his head on Mycroft’s thigh, shutting his eyes after being so damn tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this story's chapters are taking longer to update than the other stories, but that's because I am re-writing each chapter to make it flow better and because I finished this story in 2016, so I know that my writing has definitely improved since then. So yeah, I hope you guys understand. I just want to make everything as perfect as possible for y'all and if that means I have to basically edit this story chapter by chapter, that's what I'm going to do.
> 
> Anyways, please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	11. Good Bottle or Bad Bottle?

Far away from the flat, the cab drove on before finally stopping in front of two identical buildings side by side.  Jeff turned off the engine, got out, walked over to the passenger door and opened it, looking at Sherlock.

            “Where are we?” the demon demanded.  Jeff smiled.

            “You know every street in London.  You know _exactly_ where we are” he replied.  Sherlock huffed.

            “Roland-Kerr Further Education College.  Why here?” he asked.  Jeff smiled darkly.

            “It’s open; cleaners are in.  One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice spot for a murder.  I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out” he purred.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “And you just walk your victims in?  How?” he demanded.  Jeff smirked as he raised a pistol and pointed it at him.  Sherlock just rolled his eyes and turned his head away.

            “Oh.  Dull” he muttered.  Jeff smirked again.

            “Don’t worry, it gets better” he replied.  Sherlock looked up at him, frowning.

            “You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint” he stated.  Jeff shook his head.

            “I don’t.  It’s much better than that” he explained as he lowered the gun.

            “Don’t need this with you, ‘cause you’ll follow me” he sneered, confidently walking away.  Sherlock sat for a moment before grimacing in exasperation at himself as he did just what Jeff predicted by getting out of the cab to follow the Lethifold.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back at the flat, John sat nursing his cup of tea as he watched Mycroft sing to Rosie and stroke Lestrade’s soft silky silver fur.  While they were relaxing, Mycroft’s computer suddenly beeped triumphantly as a map appeared on the screen and started to zoom in on the new location on the phone.  When the computer started to beep repeated, John looked up and placed his cup on the side table before he stood up and walked over to the computer, looking at the screen.  His eyes quickly scanned the address before widening in surprise.  With the information fresh in his mind, he quickly walked over to Mycroft and stood before him, making the elder Holmes look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

            “John?” he whispered, trying not to disturb Lestrade or Rosie.  John took a deep breath.

            “I know where Sherlock is.  I’m going to find him.  Will you—” he started when Mycroft chuckled softly.

            “Of course I’ll watch Rosie.  Find him John.  Bring him home” he whispered as he stroked Rosie’s blonde hair.  John smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief.

            “Thank you” he whispered before he ran out of the flat, SIG-Sauer P226R in hand.

            “Oh, and John?” Mycroft called out suddenly, making the former soldier stop in his tracks.  John looked over his shoulder at the elder demon.

            “Yeah?” he replied.  Mycroft smiled wickedly.

            “Do be careful” he purred.  John smiled and winked before he dashed out the door.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At Roland-Kerr College, Jeff opened the door of a room and stood aside so that Sherlock could go in.  Sherlock looked at him closely but stepped inside the room anyway.  Jeff then released the door and let it swing closed as he walked over to some switches on the wall, turning on the lights to reveal that they were in a large classroom with long fixed wooden benches and freestanding plastic chairs.  Sherlock walked deeper into the room, looking around.

            “Well, what do you think?” Jeff asked.  Sherlock looked over his shoulder, giving the man a look that said, “What do I think about what?”.  Jeff smirked.

            “It’s up to you.  You’re the one who’s gonna die ‘ere” he stated.  Sherlock turned to face him, narrowing his eyes.

            “No, I’m not” he growled.  Jeff laughed.

            “That’s what they all say” he sang before he motioned to one of the benches.

            “Shall we talk?” he asked and without waiting for a reply, pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.  Sherlock took a chair from the bench in front, flipped it around and sat down opposite, sighing dramatically as he took off his gloves and put them into his coat pockets.

            “Bit risky, wasn’t it?  Took me away from three very powerful men.  They’re not _that_ stupid.  And Donovan will remember you” he sneered.  Jeff scoffed.

            “You call that a risk?  Nah” he replied as he took something out of his coat pocket.

            “This is a risk” he stated as he took out a small glass bottle with a screw top and put it onto the table in front of him with a single large capsule inside.  Sherlock looked at it but didn’t react in any way. 

            “Ooh, I like this bit ‘cause you don’t get it yet, do yer?  But you’re about to.  I just have to do this” Jeff giggled as he suddenly took out an identical bottle containing an identical capsule and put it onto the table beside the first bottle.

            “You weren’t expecting that, were yer?” he asked, almost as if he was taunting the demon before him.  He then leaned forward.

            “Oh, yer gonna love this” he purred, winking at Sherlock, who recoiled in disgust.

            “Love what?” the demon sneered.  The Lethifold ignored the question as he sat back in his chair.

            “Sherlock ‘olmes.  Look at you!  ‘Ere in the flesh.  That website of yours: your fan told me about it” he stated.  Sherlock’s brows furrowed.

            “My _fan_?” he repeated.  Jeff nodded then motioned to him.

            “You’re brilliant.  You _are._ A proper genius.  “The Science of Deduction.”  Now that is _proper_ thinking.  Between you and me sitting ‘ere, why can’t people think?” he asked as he looked down, anger crossing his face.

            “Don’t it make you mad?  Why can’t people just _think_?” he sneered before he looked up into Sherlock’s eyes.  The demon stared back for a moment before his eyes widened in realization.

            “Oh, _I_ see.  So, you’re a proper genius _too_ ” he observed, voice dripping with sarcasm.  Jeff smirked.

            “Don’t look it, do I?  Funny little man drivin’ a cab.  But you’ll know better in a minute.  Chances are it’ll be the last thing you _ever_ know” he stated.  Sherlock looked at him for a moment before he looked down at the two little bottles on the table.

            “Okay, two bottles.  Explain” he commanded.  Jeff smirked.

            “There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle.  You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take a pill from the bad bottle, you die” he stated simply.

            “Both bottles are of course identical” Sherlock observed.

            “In every way” Jeff replied.  Sherlock nodded slowly.

            “And you know which is which” he stated.  Jeff smirked.

            “Course _I_ know” he replied.  Sherlock frowned.

            “But I don’t” he assumed.  Jeff chuckled and shook his head.

            “Wouldn’t be a game if you knew.  You’re the one who chooses” he explained.  Sherlock furrowed his brows.

            “Why should I?  I’ve got nothing to go on.  What’s in it for me?” he demanded.  Jeff chuckled darkly and shook his head.

            “I ‘aven’t told you the best bit yet.  Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine” he explained.  Sherlock’s eyes widened, and a feral grin spread across his face; now he was interested.

            “I won’t cheat.  It’s your choice.  I’ll take whatever pill you don’t” Jeff stated.  With that statement in mind, Sherlock down at the bottles and concentrated.

            “Didn’t expect _that,_ did you, Mr. ‘olmes?” the Lethifold sneered.  Sherlock glanced up at him.

            “This is what you did the rest of them: you gave them a choice” he stated.  Jeff nodded and motioned to the bottles.

            “And now I’m givin’ _you_ one” he replied.  Sherlock continued to look at Jeff, who just smiled back.

            “You take your time.  Get yourself together” he purred as he licked his in anticipation.

            “I want your best game” he explained.  Sherlock snarled.

            “It’s not a _game_.  It’s _chance_ ” he spat.  Jeff laughed darkly.

            “I’ve played four times; I’m alive.  It’s not chance, Mr. ‘olmes, it’s chess.  It’s a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor.  And this… _this…_ is the move” he purred as he slid the left-hand bottle across the table towards Sherlock before licking his top lip as he pulled his hand back, leaving the bottle there. 

            “Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle?  You can choose either one” he stated with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please don't forget to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	12. Playing the Game

While Jeff and Sherlock were having their little “conversation”, John was in a taxi, desperately trying to find the demon as he held his phone up to his ear, looking and feeling slightly panicked.

            “Mycroft?  Was I bothering you?  No?  Good.  When you get the chance, please wake up Lestrade.  I _need_ to speak with him.  It’s important.  It’s an emergency!” he exclaimed.  The voice on the other line responded softly but whatever Mycroft said made him relax just a little.

            “Okay.  Thank you” he thanked before he hung up and looked at the taxi driver.

            “Er, left here please.  Left here” he instructed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in Roland-Kerr College, Jeff looked down at the bottles briefly before looking up to meet Sherlock’s eyes.

            “You ready yet, Mr. ‘olmes?  Ready to play?” he sneered.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “Play _what_?  It’s a fifty-fifty chance” he growled.  Jeff chuckled and shook his head.

            “You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ _me_.  Did I just give you the good pill or the bad one?  Is it a bluff?  Or a double-bluff?  Or a _triple_ -bluff?” he teased.  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

            “Still just a chance” he retorted.

            “Four people in a row?  It’s not just a chance” Jeff replied with a sly smile.

            “Luck” Sherlock spat.  Jeff shook his head.

            “It’s genius.  I know ‘ow people think” he bragged, making Sherlock roll his eyes.

            “I know ‘ow people think _I_ think.  I can see it all, like a map inside my ‘ead” Jeff continued.  Sherlock felt like smacking him, he was so done with his bullshit.

            “Everyone’s so stupid – even you” Jeff jeered.  Sherlock’s gaze sharpened and his eyes flashed a little.

            “Or maybe God just loves me” Jeff taunted.  Sherlock snarled before he leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him on the table.

            “Either way, you’re _wasted_ as a cabbie” he sneered.

           

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, John finally arrived at Roland-Kerr College.  As the taxi pulled away, he looked up at the two identical buildings in front of him.

            _‘Fuck…the bloody map didn’t mention anything about identical buildings!’_ he thought to himself as he looked between the two.  The more he looked at the buildings, the more confused he became in trying to figure out which building Sherlock was in.

            “Oh, fuck it” he swore before he took off towards one of the buildings.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the classroom, Sherlock lifted his clasped hands to his mouth and gazed at the Lethifold intently.

            “So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers.  Why?” he demanded.  Jeff nodded to the bottles.

            “Time to play” he stated, ignoring Sherlock’s question.  Sherlock sighed and unfolded his fingers, adopting the prayer position in front of his mouth.

            “Oh, I _am_ playing.  This is _my_ turn.  There’s shaving foam behind your left ear.  Nobody’s pointed it out to you” he stated, remembering what he saw in the cab before smirking darkly.

            “Traces of where it’s happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there’s no one to tell you” he observed.  Before him, Jeff tried not to squirm under his gaze.

            “But there’s a photograph of children.  The children’s mother has been cut of the picture.  If she’d died, she’d still be there” he continued, thinking back to the cab where he had noticed the photograph attached to the dashboard.  There was indeed a third person at the left of the photograph, but the photo had been cut along that side to remove most of her image.

            “The photograph’s old but the frame’s new.  You think of your children, but you don’t get to see them” he stated.  Jeff’s gaze slide away from him and for the first time, there was a hint of pain in his eyes.

            “Estranged father.  She took the kids, but you still love them and it _still_ hurts” Sherlock assumed as he extended his index finger.

            “Ah, but there’s more” he purred.  Jeff lifted his gaze back to him as the demon pointed his index fingers at him.

            “Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you’re wearing’s at least…three years old?  Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead.  And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree.  What’s _that_ about?” he asked with a smirk.  Jeff had gotten control of himself again and his expression said nothing as he gazed back at Sherlock.  The demon’s eyes widened slightly as he made his most important deduction.

            “Ahh…three years ago.  Is that when they told you?” he asked softly.  The Lethifold raised an eyebrow.

            “Told me what?” he replied flatly.  Sherlock stared at him as his deduction appeared by his head: DYING.

            “That you’re a dead man walking” he stated.  Jeff snarled.

            “So are you” he spat.  Sherlock hummed.

            “You don’t have long, though.  Am I right?” he asked.  Jeff smiled.

            “Aneurism” he replied, tapping the right side of his head.

            “Right in ‘ere” he added.  Sherlock smiled in satisfaction.

            “Any breath could be my last” Jeff confessd.  Sherlock suddenly frowned.

            “And because you’re dying, you’ve just murdered four people?” he asked, trying to understand the creature before him.  Jeff laughed darkly and shook his head.

            “I’ve _outlived_ four people.  That’s the most fun you can _‘ave_ on an aneurism” he stated.  Sherlock shook his head as his brows furrowed together.

            “No.  No, there’s something else.  You didn’t just kill four people because you’re bitter.  Bitterness is a paralytic.  Love is a much more vicious motivator.  Somehow this is about your children” he murmured.  Jeff looked away, sighing deeply.

            “Oh, you’re good, ain’t cha?” he asked softly.  Sherlock barred his teeth, annoyed.

            “But _how_?” he demanded.  Jeff sighed again.

            “When I die, they won’t get much, my kids.  Not a lot of money in driving cabs” he explained.

            “Or serial killing” Sherlock added.  Jeff chuckled.

            “You’d be surprised” he stated.  Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms.

            “Surprise me” he ordered.  Jeff suddenly leaned forward.

            “I ‘ave a sponsor” he whispered.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “You have a what?” he asked, confused.  Jeff smiled.

            “For every life I take, money goes to my kids.  The more I kill, the better off they’ll be.  You see?  It’s nicer than you think” he explained.  Sherlock frowned.

            “Who’d sponsor a serial killer?” he demanded.

            “Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ‘olmes?” Jeff countered.  The two creatures stared at one another for a moment before Jeff smiled wickedly.

            “You’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder.  There’s others out there just like you, except you’re just a man…and they’re so much more than that” he purred.  The side of Sherlock’s noise twitched in irritation.

            “What d’you mean, _more_ than a man?  An organization?  What?” he demanded.  Jeff shook his head.

            “There’s a name no one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either.  Now, enough chatter” he ordered as he nodded to the bottles.

            “Time to choose” he declared.  Sherlock looked down at the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other.

            _‘Which one?’_ he thought to himself.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Elsewhere in the college, John was running through the corridors, slightly panicked.

            “Sherlock?” he called out as he ran from door to door, trying their handles and peering through the windows.

            “Sherlock!” he shouted.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the classroom, not too far away from John, Sherlock continued to stare at the bottles.

            “What if I don’t choose either?  I _could_ just walk out of here” he mused.  Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, Jeff raised the pistol and pointed it at him.

            “You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head” he countered, making Sherlock smile calmly.

            “Funnily enough, no one’s ever gone for that option” he stated.  Sherlock smiled darkly this time.

            “I’ll have the gun, please” he replied.  The Lethifold raised an eyebrow.

            “Are you sure?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded, still smiling darkly.

            “Definitely.  The gun” he purred.  Jeff frowned.

            “You don’t wanna phone a friend?” he offered.  Sherlock’s dark smile grew confidently.

            “The gun” he ordered.  Jeff’s mouth tightened as he slowly squeezed the trigger, a small flamed bursting out the end of the muzzle, which transformed Sherlock’s dark smile into a smug one.

            “I know a real gun when I see one” he stated.  Calmly, Jeff lifted the pistol/cigarette lighter and released the trigger, watching as the flame went out.

            “None of the others did” he murmured.  Sherlock chuckled.

            “Clearly.  Well, this has been _very_ interesting.  I look forward to the court case” he stated as he stood up and walked towards the door as Jeff put the gun on the desk and calmly turned in his seat.

            “Just before you go, did you figure it out?” he called out.  Sherlock stopped at the door and half-turned towards him.

            “Which one’s the good bottle?” Jeff continued.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Of course.  Child’s play” he replied.  Jeff crossed his arms.

            “Well, which one then?” he demanded.  Sherlock opened the door a little but showed no sign of leaving.

            “Which one would you ‘ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?” Jeff asked.  Sherlock closed the door again.

            “Come on.  Play the game” Jeff cooed with a chuckled.  Slowly, Sherlock walked back towards him and when he reached the table, he swept up the bottle nearest to Jeff before walking past him.  Jeff looked at the remaining bottle in interest.

            “Oh…interesting” he murmured as he picked up the other bottle while Sherlock looked down at the bottle in his own hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	13. MORIARTY!

While John was still searching for Sherlock, back in the classroom, Jeff had opened his bottle and tipped the capsule out into his hand, holding it up and looking at it closely while Sherlock examined his own bottle.

            “So, what d’you think?” the Lethifold asked, looking over at the demon.

            “Shall we?” he asked.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Out in the corridor, John pulled open yet another door and looked inside, only to find it empty.

            “Damn it Sherlock” he spat as he stepped back and let the door slam shut as he hurried onward.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “ _Really,_ what do you think?” Jeff asked as he stood to his feet, facing Sherlock.

            “Can you beat me?” he sneered.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

As Jeff and Sherlock stared at one another, John raced up another flight of stairs, continuing his search.

            “Sherlock!  Sherlock, where are you, you bloody git?!” he shouted.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “Are you clever enough to bet your life?” Jeff sneered, holding up his pill as he looked at Sherlock.

            “I bet you get bored, don’t you?  I _know_ you do.  A man like you…” he started as Sherlock unscrewed the lid of his bottle.

            “…so clever.  But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it” he finished as Sherlock took his capsule out and held it between his thumb and finger, raising to the light so that he could examine it more closely.

            “Still the addict” the Lethifold purred darkly.  Slowly, Sherlock lowered the pill again, holding it at eye level, gazing at it.

            “But this… _this_ is what you’re really addicted to, innit?” Jeff sneered as Sherlock held the pill in his fingers, staring at it.

            “You’d do anything…anything at all…” Jeff started as Sherlock’s fingers began to tremble with excitement and anticipation.

            “…to stop being bored” Jeff finished.  Slowly, Sherlock began to move the pill closer towards his mouth and Jeff matched the movement by moving his own pill towards his own mouth.

            “You’re not bored now, are you?” the Lethifold murmured as his and Sherlock’s hands got closer to their mouths.

            “Innit good?” Jeff whispered when suddenly, the door exploded, shocking both the demon and Lethifold into turning to see what made the door explode.  Standing before them, in all of his fiery glory, was John, who stormed into the room, leaving a trial of flames behind him.  When he saw Sherlock and the old man with pills in their hands, his eyes widened and he quickly drew his Sig Sauer P226R and fired, hitting Jeff in the chest, close to the heart, the bullet continuing through his body before smashing into the door behind him.  Before the Lethifold could do anything, John stormed over to him and grabbed him by the neck as pure, unbridled rage flowed through his veins.  There was a long, keening wail as the Lethifold’s skin began to blister, pop, and crack as burning flesh sizzled its stench into the air, making Sherlock gag.  Meanwhile, John couldn’t see anymore; his fury was blinding.  He wasn’t sure why he was so angry, but he was; he was fucking furious.  Jeff’s face was twisted with fear as he pleaded and babbled, but John didn’t care to listen; he vowed that he would burn every molecule of this creature into non-existence.

            “John, enough” Sherlock’s smooth voice suddenly ordered from his side.  John looked over at him and nodded before he dropped the old man onto the ground.  Sherlock then noticed one of the pills on the desk, so he quickly snatched it before kneeling down and brandishing it at Jeff, who was very nearly burnt to a crisp.

            “Was I right?” he demanded.  Jeff turned his head away in disbelief.

            “I was, wasn’t I?  Did I get it right?” the demon shouted, but Jeff didn’t reply.  Sherlock barred his fangs and angrily hurled the pills across the room before he stood up.

            “Okay, tell me this: your sponsor.  Who was it?  The one who told you about me – my “fan”.  I want a name” he ordered.  Jeff shook his head.

            “No” he answered weakly.  John snarled and pulled his gun out, pointing it at Jeff once more.

            **“Tell him or I’ll shoot”** he boomed.  Jeff shook his head again, so John did what he promised and pulled the trigger once more, shooting the old man in the leg.  Sherlock looked over at him before looking back at Jeff, smirking.

            “You’re dying but there’s still time to hurt you.  Give me a name” he commanded as John pulled the slide back, reloading.  Jeff shook his head in refusal.  Baring his fangs, Sherlock lifted his foot and put into Jeff’s shoulder, making the Lethifold gasp in pain.

            “A _name_ ” he ordered as he pressed down harder, making Jeff cry out in pain this time.  

            **_“NOW”_** the demon commanded as black leathery wings unfurled from his back.  Still, Jeff only continued to whine in pain, so Sherlock leaned all of his weight onto his foot as a maniacal grin spread across his face, making Jeff whimper.

            **“THE NAME!”** he roared.

            “MORIARTY!” Jeff cried back in agony before his eyes closed and his head rolled to the side.  Sherlock took a step back and turned his head away, a reflective look on his face.  After a few seconds, he silently mouthed the word ‘Moriarty’ to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You do not want to fuck with John, that's for damn sure.
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story and if you are, please don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	14. "Dinner?"  "Starving."

Outside the college, Sherlock was sitting on the back steps of an ambulance when a paramedic walked over to him and draped an orange blanket around his shoulders as a large, silver kitsune padded over.

            “Why have I got this blanket?  They keep putting this blanket on me” Sherlock grumbled as he motioned to the blanket.  The kitsune chuckled as it shifted back into Lestrade, who then crossed his arms.

            “Yeah, it’s for shock” he stated.  Sherlock frowned.

            “I’m not _in_ shock” he spat.  Lestrade smiled mischievously.

            “Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs” he explained.  The demon rolled his eyes.

            “So, the shooter.  No sign?” he asked, knowing full well who the shooter was.  Lestrade shook his head.

            “Cleared off before we got ‘ere.  But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose.  One of them could have been following him but…got nothing to go on” he replied with a shrug.  Sherlock looked at him pointedly.

            “Oh, I wouldn’t say that” he murmured, making Lestrade roll his eyes this time.

            “Okay, gimme” he ordered.  Sherlock stood up and crossed his arms, smirking.

            “The bullet they just dug out of the wall is from a hand gun.  Kill shot over that distance from that kind of weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter.  His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimated to violence.  He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle.  You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service…” he started as he looked over at John, who was standing some distance away behind the police tape.

            “…and nerves of steel…” he continued, smiling slightly.  When John looked back at him and smiled slightly, the smile on the demon’s face grew.  Lestrade turned to follow Sherlock’s gaze but Sherlock quickly turned back to him before he could start asking questions.

            “Actually, you know what?  Ignore me” he ordered.  Lestrade frowned.

            “Sorry?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Ignore all of that.  It’s just the, er, the shock talking” he rambled as he started to walk towards John.  Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

            “Where’re you going?” he called out.

            “I just need to talk about Rosie” Sherlock called back.

            “But I’ve still got questions for you!” the DI exclaimed.  The demon turned back to him, irritation on his face.

            “Oh, what _now_?  I’m in shock!  Look, I’ve got a blanket!” he exclaimed, brandishing the sides of the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it.

            “Sherlock!” the kitsune exclaimed.

            “ _And_ I just caught you a serial killer…more or less” the demon murmured.  Lestrade looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before he sighed.

            “Okay.  We’ll bring you in tomorrow.  Off you go” he instructed, making a shooing motion with his hands.  Sherlock smiled and walked away while Lestrade smiled as well as he watched him go. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Taking the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock bundled it up as he approached John, who was standing at the side of a police car, and tossed it through the open window of the car before ducking under the police tape.

            “Um, Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining everything, the two pills.  Been a dreadful business, hasn’t it?  Dreadful” the angel commented as the demon walked over towards him.  Sherlock looked at him for a moment before he smiled.

            “Nice shot.  Bit overkill with the fire, though” he whispered.  John blushed before he scoffed.

            “I did what I had to do.  You’re welcome” he replied.  Sherlock smirked and crossed his arms.

            “Need to get the powder burns off your fingers.  I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case” he teased.  John chuckled and shook his head.

            “Sherlock, my element is fire.  The powder burns are already gone” he retorted.  The demon smiled slightly.

            “You seem to be embracing your new powers” he mused.  John blushed slightly.

            “It’s definitely a new sensation but…I don’t dislike it” he murmured.  Sherlock hummed before his face turned serious.

            “Are you alright?” he asked.  John looked up at him, perplexed.

            “Yes, of course I’m alright” he replied.  Sherlock gave him a look.

            “Well, you _did_ just kill a man” he stated.  John nodded as he looked down at his feet.

            “That’s true, I did, didn’t I?” he whispered, not exactly to Sherlock, but more to himself.  He then looked up at the demon and smiled slightly.

            “But he wasn’t a very _nice_ man” he stated.  Apparently reassured that John really was okay, Sherlock nodded in agreement.

            “No.  No, he wasn’t really, was he?” he asked.  John smirked.

            “And frankly a bloody awful cabbie” he added.  Sherlock chuckled before he turned and started to lead them away.

            “That’s true.  He _was_ a bad cabbie.  Should have seen the route he took us to get here!” he exclaimed.  John started to giggle and Sherlock began to smile.

            “Stop!  Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene!  Stop it!” John scolded as he continued to giggle.

            “You’re the one who shot him.  Don’t blame me” Sherlock replied.  John looked up at him with wide eyes.

            “Keep your voice down!” he shouted softly as they walked past Donovan, who gave them both a look, making John smile apologetically.

            “Sorry, it’s just, um, nerves I think” he stated.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Sorry” he apologized.  As they walked away, John cleared his throat.

            “You were gonna take that damn pill, weren’t you?” he asked.  Sherlock looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “Course I wasn’t.  Biding my time.  Knew you’d turn up” he answered.  John groaned and rolled his eyes.

            “No, you didn’t.  It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it?  You risk your life to prove you’re clever” he snapped, making Sherlock smile darkly.

            “Now, why would I do that?” he asked sarcastically.  John looked at him and rolled his eyes again.

            “Because you’re an idiot” he replied fondly.  Sherlock smiled, delighted that he had finally found someone who understood him and – more to the point – didn’t care about his behavior.  After a moment, he forced down the smile.

            “Dinner?” he asked.  John smiled.

            “Starving” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all of the lovely comments! They really make my day! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	15. Daddy!

            “End of Baker Street, there’s a good Chinese that stays open ‘til two.  You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle” Sherlock explained as he and John walked away from the crime scene.  As he was talking, a few yards ahead of them, a black limo had pulled up and Mycroft Holmes stepped out, carrying an awake and giddy Rosie in his arms.

            “Papa!” Rosie squealed as she squirmed in Mycroft’s arms.  John smiled and took a couple of steps forward as Mycroft walked forward as well.  Once he was about five or six feet away, he lowered Rosie so that she was standing on her feet.  John smiled and knelt down so that he was about her height before he held out his arms.

            “Come on Rosie, come to Papa” he cooed.  Rosie let out a delighted little giggle before she started to waddle towards the angel, arms reaching out to John.

            “Papa!  Papa!” she squealed.  While she was waddling towards John, Sherlock looked over at his brother, who smiled at him.

            “You solved the case” the elder demon stated.  Sherlock nodded, making Mycroft clap his hands, a proud smile on his face.

            “Well done, brother mine.  I am very proud” he praised.  Sherlock smiled slightly and crossed his arms.

            “Well, that is very high praise, coming from the British Government” he teased.  While the two demons were talking, John was still kneeling on the ground, holding out his arms for his daughter to walk into.  However, when she was about a foot or so away from him, she suddenly changed directions and started walking towards Sherlock.  The angel frowned and slowly stood to his feet and watched as his daughter waddled towards the tall, younger demon.

            “Rosie…” he called out, but his daughter didn’t hear him.  She continued to waddle until she was right in front of the demon’s leg before falling forward, glomping his leg.

            “Daddy!” she squealed.  Sherlock froze before slowly looking down to see little Rosie attached to his leg like a koala, smiling up at him with a smile that shone brighter than the sun.  He then looked over at John, whose eyes were wide with awe like the day they first met.

            “J-John?” he whispered, looking back down at Rosie, who was clutching at his pants leg tightly.  The angel remained silent for a moment before he chuckled.

            “It seems…Sherlock, that Rosie has now claimed you as her father” he answered softly.  Sherlock blinked before he bent down and slowly picked up the little girl, cradling her to his chest as she immediately snuggled herself into his chest with a little sigh.  Mycroft looked at his little brother with fondness before he chuckled.

            “Sherlock Holmes, Demon, Consulting Detective, Father…hmm…has quite a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” he teased.  Sherlock looked up at him and shot him a dirty look before he looked back down at Rosie as she clutched at his dress shirt with her tiny hand.  John resisted the urge to squeal before he looked over at Mycroft.

            “British Government?” he repeated.  The elder demon nodded.

            “Indeed.  I occupy a minor position in the British Government” he replied.  Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes.

            “He _is_ the British Government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis” he snarked.  John chuckled and shook his head as he crossed his arms.

            “Well, isn’t Rosie lucky to have the British Government as an uncle” he praised before he walked over to Sherlock and placed a hand on his shoulder.

            “I think it’s time to have that dinner, Sherlock” he murmured.  Sherlock nodded and began to walk off, leaving John slightly behind.

            “Goodnight Mycroft” the angel bid before he quickly followed after the demon and his daughter.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “So, dim sum” John stated when he finally caught up to Sherlock.  Sherlock nodded as he caressed Rosie’s hair.

            “Mmm!  I can always predict the fortune cookies” he bragged.  John rolled his eyes and gently socked him in the arm.  

            “No, you can’t” he exclaimed.  Sherlock chuckled.

            “Almost can,” he replied before his smile suddenly fell from his face and he looked down at the ground.

            “Thank you” he whispered.  John looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “What for?” he replied.  Sherlock smiled slightly.

            “For saving me…from Jeff.  I didn’t thank you back there and I…I feel like I need to” he explained softly.  John chuckled and rolled his eyes before he shook his head.

            “Oh Sherlock.  You’re welcome” he replied fondly.  Sherlock looked up from the ground and smiled, which made John smile as well.

            “What are you so happy about?” he asked, noticing a little glint in the demon’s eyes.

            “Moriarty” he replied.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “What’s Moriarty?” he asked.  Sherlock’s grin turned positively chesire.

            “I have absolutely _no_ idea” he replied cheerfully.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, Mycroft remained behind and watched as his brother walked off with the angel and his daughter, a smile on his face.

            “Sir, shall we go?” Anthea called from the car.  Mycroft looked over at her and shook his head.

            “No, thank Anthea.  I’m going to see my fox.  You may go home” he replied as he turned on his heels and walked towards the crime scene, a small smile on his face.  Anthea smiled and shook her head as she sat down comfortably in the backseat, shutting her eyes.

            “Home, please” she instructed to the driver, who nodded and took off into the peaceful night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is this some cute shit right here, fam. Some cute shit.
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story and thank you all for your lovely comments! They really make my day! Please continue to leave them along with kudos and don't forget to bookmark and subscribe!


	16. Tea Ceremony

A few months later, in the National Antiquities Museum, an ancient Chinese clay tea set was arranged on a tray and oriental flute music played gently as a young phoenix, by the name of Soo Lin Yao, took a large pinch of tea leaves from a bowl and sprinkled them into a clay teapot before pouring water on top of them.  Before her stood a group of children and a few adults and they watched as she performed her demonstration.

            “The great artisans say the more the teapot is used, the more beautiful it becomes” Soo Lin explained as she deliberately overfilled the pot.  She then picked up the lid and gently pressed it down into place, watching as water spilled over the side of the pot before picking up a small jug and pouring more liquid over the top of the pot.

            “The pot is seasoned by repeatedly pouring tea over the surface. The deposit left on the clay creates this beautiful patina over time” she continued, holding up the wet teapot to show her audience how the pot was shining.

            “For some pots, the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago” she stated, finishing her presentation.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sometime later, the visitors left, and Soo Lin was gently drying and dusting off the tea set with a brush.

            “This museum will be closing in ten minutes” a voice boomed over the PA system.  As she was cleaning up, a young English Bolla, Andy Balbraith, walked over and stood behind her, watching as she carefully packed the tea set into a box.

            “Four hundred years old and they’re lettin’ you use it to make yourself a brew!” he called out teasingly.

            “Some things aren’t supposed to sit behind glass.  They’re made to be touched; to be handled” Soo Lin replied before she turned around to look at him.  Andy – who had a massive crush on her – looked back at her with doe-eyes, making her turn back to the box and frown.

            “These pots need attention” she stated as she held up a dry-looking pot with no shine on it.

            “The clay is cracking” she added.  Andy chuckled nervously.

            “Well, I can’t see how a tiny splash of tea’s gonna help” he replied.

            “Sometimes you have to look hard at something to see its value” Soo Lin replied as she put the teapot down while Andy steeled himself to say something.  Just as he opened his mouth, she lifted up another pot to show him.

            “See?  This one shines a little brighter” she stated with a smile.  Andy smiled before he braced himself.

            “I don’t suppose…um, I mean, I don’t suppose that you…you wanna have a drink?” he asked before he grimaced.

            “Not tea, obviously.  Um, in a pub, with me, tonight…um…” he stuttered, feeling extremely awkward.  Soo Lin put the pot down, not looking at him.

            “You wouldn’t like me that much” she murmured.  Andy frowned.

            “Couldn’t I maybe decide that for myself?” he asked.  Soo Lin hesitated before briefly glancing towards him.

            “I can’t.  I’m sorry.  Please stop asking” she softly begged as she closed the tea box.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

A little while later, the main entrance doors to the museum were closed for the night and most of lights were off.  Meanwhile, down in the basement archive, Soo Lin was in one of the stacks, putting her equipment away.  As she was packing away the tea set, she heard a noise nearby.

            “Security?” she called out, but there was no response.  After an anxious pause, she walked out of the stacks and looked around.

            “Hello?” she called out, a little frightened.  To her right, a tall and narrow object was covered with a white sheet that billowed in the breeze.  She nervously walked closer to the object, then hesitantly took hold of the sheet and pulled it down, her eyes widening in horror and fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story and if you are, please don't forget to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!.
> 
> Also, on another note, if you don't like this story, please kindly and quietly go read something else. Please do not comment about how you wish I'd write the characters a certain way. This is my story and I will write the characters the way I see fit. If you don't like how I write something or how this story is going, I really don't care. My story, my writing, my rules. End of discussion. Sorry for the little rant. Just had to get it out.


	17. Fight in the Flat, Row with a Machine

At the supermarket, John was standing at one of two self-service checkouts, scanning items from his basket as a short queue formed behind him. 

            “Unexpected item in bagging area.  Please try again” an automated voice stated from the machine when John tried to scan an item.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, while John was at the supermarket, back at the flat, Sherlock was under attack from a heavily robed figure whose face and head were almost completely shrouded in a variety of scarves.  As the attacker slashed at the demon with a curved sword, Sherlock backed up carefully and ducked this way and that, avoiding the blows.  During the attack, the man backed Sherlock up as far as the sofa before taking another swing at him.  Ducking under the sword, Sherlock dropped onto the sofa in a sitting position and the attacker lifted his sword above his head with both hands, ready to strike, but Sherlock just raised his leg and kicked the man hard in the chest, shoving him backwards.  As the man stumbled back across the room, Sherlock jumped to his feet and took an all-important moment to straighten his jacket before charging across the room towards the man.  Meanwhile, as he was fighting this attacker, Rosie was asleep in her bedroom, tiny fingers curled around his purple neck scarf.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back at the supermarket, John held a lettuce in a plastic bag and moved it slowly across the scanner in an attempt to get it read the barcode.

            “Item not scanned.  Please try again” the automated voice stated, making John straighten up as fire prickled at his fingertips.

            “D’you think you could keep your voice down?” he asked the machine as he stared at it in exasperation.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the flat, the attacker held his sword horizontally in both hands and pushed Sherlock backwards towards the kitchen.  With a tight grip on the man’s wrists, Sherlock fell back onto the dining table and the man followed him down, trying to press the edge of the blade into his throat.  Grimacing in effort, Sherlock pushed the man’s right wrist upwards to the keep the blade from cutting him and instead, the point began to dig into the table to his right.  He then raised his left leg and kneed the man in the side several times and, as this began to weaken the man’s grip, Sherlock forced himself upwards again as the sword tip gouged a long slash across the top of the table.

            “John’s not going to like that” he murmured to himself as he glanced over at the gouge, frowning.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the supermarket, John finally got everything scanned and inserted his credit card into the chip-and-PIN machine, typing in his PIN and waiting.

            “Card not authorized.  Please use an alternative method of payment” the automated voice asked.

            “Yes, all right!  I’ve got it!” John hissed.

            “Card not authorized.  Please use an alternative method of payment” the machine repeated.  Behind John, the man picked up his own basket in expectation of getting to the scanner soon, which made John reach towards his back pocket, only to find that he had no other way of paying.  The angel took a deep breath before he let out a roar, fire quickly surrounding his body before it shot up into the air like a pillar.  He then took another deep breath, calming himself before he pointed at the machine.

            “Right, keep it.  Keep that” he growled before he stormed away, abandoning his shopping and quite possibly his card as well.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, in the flat, Sherlock was on his feet again and moved the fight back into the living room, away from the kitchen and away from Rosie, who was still fast asleep.  The attacker took another at the demon, who ducked underneath the sword before quickly straightening, pointing directly over the attacker’s shoulder.

            “Look!” he shouted, noticing that attacker was already half turned in that direction due to the swing of the sword and was also perhaps momentary distracted by their reflections in the mirror over the fireplace behind him.  Sherlock smirked and took advantage of the moment to swing a powerful uppercut into the man’s chin, making the man immediately drop unconscious into his armchair.  He smirked victoriously before straightening, checking his reflection in the mirror; fixing his hair, dusting himself down, before finally fixing his jacket and cuffs.  Once he had done that, looked down at the man in his chair with disdain.

            “You messed up my suit” he growled before he snapped his fingers, making the man disappear.  After the man was gone, Sherlock cleared his throat and walked towards Rosie’s bedroom, opening the door quietly before walking over to her crib and leaning over it, looking down at the beautiful blonde-hair child that he now called his daughter.  He smiled softly before he reached down and brushed some of her soft blonde hair from her face.  Rosie stirred, let out a little yawn, then blinked awake, rolling over to see Sherlock smiling down at her.  A small and tired smile graced her face, making the demon’s heart melt.

            “Good morning sweetheart” he whispered.  Rosie tiredly raised her arms and Sherlock scooped her into his arms, cradling her to his chest.

            “Daddy” she greeted, nuzzling her face into the demon’s neck.  Sherlock smiled as he turned away from the crib, walking over to the changing station.  He quickly undressed her and changed her diaper before dressing her in a pink t-shirt, blue overalls, white ankle socks with lace on the trim, and little white shoes.

            “There.  Don’t you look beautiful?” he cooed as he picked her up and walked into the kitchen, sitting her down in her highchair before making her a quick breakfast of cinnamon and apple oatmeal.  He then sat down next to her and helped her grab the spoon, place it in the bowl, and scoop up a spoonful.  He then helped her guide it to her mouth and smiled as she ate the contents of spoon.  They then repeated that process until the entire bowl was gone and Rosie was content.

            “Good girl Rosie.  You ate the oatmeal all by yourself!” Sherlock praised as he took the bowl away and placed it in the sink to wash later before he grabbed washcloth, wet it, wrung it out, then walked back over to his daughter, cleaning up her face to which she protested with whines.

            “Don’t complain Rosie, hygiene is a basic necessity” the demon stated as he waved away the towel before picking her up out of the highchair and carrying her to the bathroom, where he gently brushed her teeth and washed her face with a warm washcloth.  Once she was nice and clean, he carried her back out into the living room.  They then sat down on the couch and the demon looked down at his daughter.

            “Story?” he asked.  Rosie looked up at him and nodded eagerly, making Sherlock smile and snap his fingers, summoning a book into his hands.  He then cracked it open and began to read, smiling slightly as Rosie leaned against him, listening intently, even though she didn’t understand the big words that he was reading.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

As Sherlock was reading, he heard the front door to the flat unlock, so he glanced up to see John enter the flat with a look that said he suspected that something happened in his absence, but he couldn’t tell what.

            “You took your time” the demon stated, glancing back down at his book before John could noticed that he was looking at him.

            “Yeah, I didn’t get the shopping” the angel replied.

            “What?  Why not?” Sherlock asked as he indignantly looked over the top of his book.  John look over at him before he glared and let out a hiss.

            “Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine” he growled.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow and paused in his reading, lowering the book.

            “You…you had a row with a machine?” he repeated.  John nodded angrily.

            “Sort of.  It sat there, and I shouted abused.  Have you got cash?” he asked.  Sherlock let out a little snicker before he motioned towards his great coat, which was hanging up on a hook in the hallway.

            “Take my card” he instructed.  John let out a relieved little sigh and started to walk towards the coat before he turned around and faced the demon indignantly.

            “You could always go yourself, you know.  You haven’t done anything all morning” he grumbled.  Sherlock briefly flashed back to a moment in the fight when he ducked under a swing from the attacker’s sword before he smirked and motioned down to Rosie, who was softly snoring on his side.

            “But I’ve been taking care of Rosie” he replied, who snuffled and snuggled deeper into Sherlock’s side.  John’s heart melted a little at the sight before he huffed and walked over to the demon’s coat, picking out the wallet from the pocket and rummaging through it for a suitable payment card.

            “And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?” he asked as he searched.  Sherlock shook his head as he went back to silently reading his book, stroking Rosie’s side as he read.

            “Not interested” he replied as he grabbed a small piece of paper and used it as a bookmark as he shut the book with a quiet snap before suddenly realizing that the attacker’s sword was still lying on the ground where John could see it.  He quickly snapped his fingers, making the sword disappear before he cleared his throat.

            “I sent them a message” he stated firmly as he remembered the uppercut that ended the fight.  By the demon’s coat, John smirked and shook his head.

            “Oh, I’m sure you did” he teased as he pulled out an acceptable card that he could use.  Once he pocketed the card, he walked into the living room, only to stop by the dining room table when he noticed a new long narrow gouge in the top of the table.  He sighed and ran a finger along the cut, rubbing at it in case it was just a mark that could be removed.

            “Sherlock…did you have a fight in the flat?” he asked slowly, looking over at the demon.  Sherlock looked up at him and shook his head innocently, making John groan and run a hand through his hair.

            “Sherlock…this was a new dining table!  Why did you have to go and wreck it?!” he shouted.  Sherlock shrugged as he continued to stroke Rosie’s side as she napped.

            “He had a sword…what else was I supposed to do?  Let him chop my head off?” he replied sarcastically.  John groaned again before a thought popped into his head.

            “Did they go after Rosie?” he asked softly.  Sherlock noticed the change in his tone and quickly shook his head.

            “No.  I didn’t let anyone go near your daughter” he replied with a growl.  John let out an exasperated huff and turned to face him.

            “Our daughter, Sherlock.  Our daughter.  The minute Rosie called you “Daddy”, you became her father and she became “our” daughter” he stated matter-of-factly.  Sherlock looked back at him and smirked.

            “Repeating “our” three times to make sure I remember, John?” he teased.  John smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

            “Hey, it’s said to work.  I’m not going to question it” he replied before he walked over to the door.

            “Well, I’ll be off.  Please make sure no one else tries to kill you!” he called out as he opened the door then closed it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all of your sweet comments! They really mean a lot!
> 
> Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	18. Rosie Learns New Words

Later that morning, Sherlock was reading his scientific book while Rosie was playing with a human skull that he had summoned for her to play with when there was a sudden knock at the door.  He looked up from his book and frowned as he shut it with a snap, standing to his feet.

            “Be right back Rosie” he murmured as he walked over to the door and opened it to reveal John Watson carrying several bags of shopping.

            “Oh, thank God, I thought I would have to carry this all myself” he breathed.  Sherlock smiled and snapped his fingers, transporting the shopping bags from John’s arms to the dining room table.  John smiled at him before he stepped into the flat and headed towards the dining room, grabbing a few bags of groceries to take to the kitchen so that he could put them away.  While he was taking care of the groceries, Sherlock’s phone pinged with the sound of a new email.  The demon pulled out his phone and opened the email, noticing that it was from Sebastian Wilkes, an old Demogorgon acquaintance of his.  He grimaced but quickly read through the email, noticing that Sebastian said that there was an “incident” at the bank that he worked at and that since Sherlock was a consulting detective, he would come and take a look at it.  He also asked him to drop by and said that he’ll be relying on Sherlock’s discretion.

            “Ugh, boring” the demon murmured as he pocketed the phone and sat down next to Rosie, who held up the skull.

            “Skull!” she exclaimed.  Sherlock’s eyes widened as a wide grin broke out on his face.

            “Yes, Rosie, that is a skull.  Well done, darling!” he praised as he stroked the soft blonde hair.

            “Did you say something, Sherlock?” John called from the kitchen.  Sherlock looked towards the kitchen, the smile still on his face.

            “Rosie just said a new word” he called back.  John quickly walked out of the kitchen and over to Sherlock, kneeling next to him as he looked at their daughter.

            “Rosie?  Did you say a new word for Daddy?” he asked.  Rosie turned to look at him and grinned, holding up the skull.

            “Skull!” she exclaimed proudly.  John smiled and clapped his hands.

            “Well done Rosie!  I’m so proud” he cooed as he leaned forward, kissing his daughter on the head before standing to his feet.  He then looked at Sherlock, crossing his arms.

            “Who was the email from?” he asked.  Sherlock looked up at him and sighed.

            “Acquaintance.  Demogorgon by the name of Sebastian Wilkes.  Asked me to take a look at something for him at the bank that he owns.  Care to join?” he asked.  John looked at him and nodded, a small smile on his face.

            “Of course.  Just let me call Mycroft and ask him if he can watch Rosie while we’re out” he explained as he pulled out his phone.

            “There will be no need to even ask John, of course Gregory and I would be willing to watch Rosie” a voice called out, making Sherlock and John whirl around to see Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes standing in their living room.  Rosie then looked up from her skull at the two new men and smiled.

            “Unca!” she exclaimed, raising her arms towards Mycroft, making grabby hands at him.  Lestrade’s eyes widened while Mycroft froze for half a second before he reached down and scooped Rosie into his arms.

            “She’s learning to say new words, apparently” Sherlock murmured as he watched his daughter play with the buttons on Mycroft’s three-piece suit as the elder demon looked down at her in wonder.  Lestrade smiled at Rosie before he looked over at John and Sherlock.

            “We’ve got this covered, boys.  Have fun on your little excursion” he stated as Rosie turned to him, grinning.

            “Geg!” she proclaimed, pointing at him.  The four men in the room could have melted from the wide smile that was on Rosie’s face, but John and Sherlock quickly remembered that they had somewhere to be.

            “You two know what to do, right?” John asked, looking at the demon and the kitsune.  Mycroft and Lestrade both nodded, allowing John to let out a sigh of relief.

            “Good.  Be safe, don’t let our daughter get hurt in any way, and if she does… **end them** ” he growled before he turned on his heels and walked towards the door.  Sherlock looked after him with wide eyes before he shook his head and smirked, following after the doctor.  Once he got to the door, he glanced over his shoulder at Lestrade and Mycroft.

            “Ta-ta boys” he called out before he and John walked out the door, slamming it shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I hope you guys are enjoying this story! Thank you for all of the lovely comments! They really make my day
> 
> Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	19. To the Bank

At Tower 42 on Old Broad Street, Sherlock lead John through revolving glass doors that lead into Shad Sanderson Bank.

            “Yes, when you said we were going to the bank…” John murmured as he looked around at the impressive foyer before following after Sherlock onto an escalator while the demon was observing everything, especially the security systems that had to have cards swiped across electronic readers in order to open glass barrier gates.  The angel and demon soon reached the top of the escalator and Sherlock walked over the reception desk, addressing one of the receptionist.

            “Sherlock Holmes” he stated firmly.  The receptionist looked up at him and nodded.

            “This way, sir” she replied as she stood up from her desk and motioned for him and John to follow her into Sebastian Wilkes’ office.

            “He’ll be with you in a moment” she stated as she walked back out.  Literally the moment she walked out, Sebastian walked in and smiled at Sherlock.

            “Sherlock Holmes” he greeted happily. 

            “Sebastian” Sherlock replied as Sebastian shook his hand, clasping Sherlock’s hand in both of his own.

            “Howdy, buddy.  How long’s it been?  Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?” the Demogorgon asked.  Sherlock looked back at him with only marginally disguised dislike as he turned to look at John.

            “Who’s this?” he asked.  Sherlock snarled as he stepped closer to the angel.

            “This is my _partner_ , John Watson” he growled.  Sebastian looked back at him in surprise.

            “Partner?” he repeated.  John nodded and crossed his arms, smiling smugly.

            “Partner” he affirmed.  Sebastian blinked before he held out his hand for John to shake.  John didn’t want to be rude, so he shook the man’s hand as Sebastian looked at him curiously.

            “Right” he murmured before he looked over at Sherlock as if to say, “Didn’t think you had a partner!”  He then grinned unpleasantly before momentarily scratching his neck while Sherlock’s gaze fell on his wristwatch.  As he turned away, John pursed his lips as if he had taken an instant dislike to the man.

            “Well, grab a pew.  D’you need anything?  Coffee?  Water?” Sebastian asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “No” John answered, speaking for the both of them.  Sebastian frowned.

            “No?” he repeated before turning to his secretary, who had stuck her head in.

            “We’re all sorted here, thanks” he stated.  As the secretary left the room, Sebastian sat down at his desk and the other two sat side by side opposite him.

            “So, you’re doing well.  You’ve been abroad a lot” Sherlock stated.  Sebastian stated.

            “Well, some” he replied.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Flying all the way around the world twice in a month?” he asked.  John glanced over at him and frowned while Sebastian chuckled.

            “Right.  You’re doing that thing” he stated before he looked over at John.

            “We were in uni together.  This guy here had a trick he used to do” he explained. 

            “It’s not a trick” Sherlock growled quietly.

            “He could look at you and tell you your whole life story” Sebastian teased.  John snarled softly as fire began to prick at his fingertips.

            “Yes, I’ve seen him do it” he snapped.

            “Put the wind up everybody.  We hated him” Sebastian continued, making Sherlock turn his head away and look down, pain momentarily filling his face.  John glanced over at him as the fire on his fingertips spread to encase his hands.

            “You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night” Sebastian cackled.

            “I simply observed” Sherlock stated quietly.  Sebastian then leaned forward in his chair, smirking.

            “Go on then, enlighten me.  Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you’re quite right.  How could you tell?” he demanded.  John was slowly growing more and more angry as Sebastian goaded Sherlock, but the man just didn’t seem to take a hint.

            “You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan” Sebastian interrupted as Sherlock opened his mouth.

            “No, I…” the demon stammered.

            “Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!” the Demogorgon exclaimed, talking over him.  Sherlock simply looked at him for a moment before he sighed.

            “I was just chatting with your secretary outside.  _She_ told me” he stated simply, making the fire on John’s hands go out as he turned to look at the demon with a frown on his face, surprised by the “ordinary” answer.  Sebastian laughed humorlessly, and Sherlock just smiled back with an equal lack of humor as the Demogorgon clapped his hands together, becoming more serious.

            “I’m glad you could make it over.  We’ve had a break-in” he stated as he stood to his feet, motioning for the demon and angel to follow him as he led them across the trading floor towards another door.

            “Sir William’s office – the bank’s former Chairman.  The room’s been left here like a sort of memorial.  Someone broke in last night” he explained as he walked towards the room.  As they were walking there, John reached over and gently touched Sherlock’s arm, making the demon look over at him with a raised eyebrow.

            _“Are you alright?”_ he mouthed.  Sherlock snickered.

            _“I would like to murder the man but since that is not exactly legal, I will refrain from doing so”_ he replied.  John let out a little chuckle and shook his head as Sebastian cleared his throat, gaining their attention.

            “What did they steal?” John asked, quickly acting like Sherlock Holmes’ partner.  Sebastian shook his head.

            “Nothing.  Just left a little message” he stated as he held his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it.  Inside, hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk was a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit – presumably the late Sir William Shad himself.  On the wall to the left of the portrait, someone had sprayed what looked like a graffiti “tag” in yellow paint.  The tag looked vaguely like a number eight but with the top of the number left open and above it was an almost horizontal straight line.  Across the eyes of portrait itself, another almost horizontal straight light had been sprayed.  Perhaps, because of the texture of the paper or perhaps because the “artist” over sprayed the line, the yellow paint had run trails down the painting.  Sebastian led the way towards the desk before stepping aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall.  John moved to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looked at Sherlock expectantly while the demon stared in fixed concentration at the graffiti.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Later, back in Sebastian’s office, Sebastian was showing Sherlock and John the security footage of the office from the previous night.

            “Sixty seconds apart” he stated as he flicked back and forth between the still photograph taken at 23:34:01, which showed the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and a minute earlier – 23:33:01 – when the wall and portrait were still clean.

            “So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute” he grumbled.

            “How many ways into that office?” Sherlock asked.  Sebastian smiled.

            “Well, that’s where this gets really interesting” he replied.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the reception area, Sebastian showed them a screen which had a map of the trading floor and its surrounding offices.  Each indicated door had light against it, showing its security status.

            “Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here.  Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet” he explained.

            “That door didn’t open last night” Sherlock mused.

            “There’s a hole in our security.  Find it and we’ll pay you – five figures” Sebastian ordered as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a check, smiling as he handed the check over to Sherlock.

            “This is an advance.  Tell me how he got in, there’s a bigger one on its way” he stated.  Sherlock glowered at him but took the check anyways.

            “I don’t _need_ an incentive, Sebastian” he growled before he stormed away.  John watched him leave before he turned towards Sebastian.

            “You’re a very lucky man” he murmured softly.  Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him, putting his hands on his hips.

            “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.  John smiled darkly.

            “Sherlock is doing this as a service to you… and yet you tease and mock him and call him a freak…and he hasn’t killed you yet…or sic me on you so…consider yourself a very lucky” he growled as fire slowly encased his body.  Sebastian took a step back, making John chuckle darkly.

            “He didn’t tell me his partner was an angel” he breathed in horror.  John smiled and snuffed out his flames, raising his chin as he looked into the Demogorgon’s eyes.

            “Because he wanted me to introduce myself” he growled before he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, leaving Sebastian terrified for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mess with Sherlock, especially around John. It won't end well. Thank you for all of the lovely comments! Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	20. Pillars and Screens

Later, Sherlock returned to Sir William’s office and took photographs on his mobile of the graffiti.  Once he had taken several pictures, he turned around, the symbols still floating in front of his mind’s eye.  He looked to his right where the floor-to-ceiling windows showed an impressive view of the nearby Swiss Re Tower, better known as “The Gherkin.”  Frowning and looking away in thought for a moment, he then walked over to the window and pulled up the blinds, which were covering a door onto a small balcony.  Opening the door, he went out onto the balcony and looked over the spectacular view of London before looking down at the very long drop to the ground, hundreds of feet below.  He then looked along the balcony and bit his lip thoughtfully before he headed back inside.  Not to long afterwards, he was dancing.  On the trading floor, he had ducked down behind a desk before rising slowly upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William’s office.  He then ducked sideways and hurried across the floor, to the bemusement of John, who was watching, and other traders.  Sherlock continued to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway.  He danced across the floor again and twirled around a column before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor.  Stopping in the doorway, he wiggled about, his eyes still fixed on Sir William’s office, before turning and heading into the office, walking to the other side of the desk.  Standing directly behind the chair of whoever worked in the room, he saw that he had a clear view of the top of the painting and the new yellow slash across the portrait’s eyes.  He danced sideways across the room before coming back to his previous position, confirming that this was the only place on the trading floor from where the damaged portrait could be seen.  Looking around the room for some identification, he eventually went to the door where two signs were attached to the outside, one showing that this was the office of the Hong Kong desk head, and the sign above it gave the name of the person: Edward Van Coon.  He slid the top sign out of its holder and headed off, John quickly following behind.

            “What was that all about?” the angel asked.  Sherlock shrugged.

            “Thinking” he replied.  John let out a fond scoff before he shook his head.

            “Two trips around the world this month.  You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him” he mused.  Sherlock smirked.

            “And you threatened the man’s life after I left the room” he reminded.  John huffed and crossed his arms.

            “He called you a freak” he grumbled as he and the demon continued walking towards the elevators.  Sherlock let out a soft chuckle.

            “Thank you for protecting my image” he murmured.  John blushed and looked away, clearing his throat.

            “You’re welcome” he replied.  The two walked in silence for a while before John cleared his throat.

            “How _did_ you know?” he asked.  Sherlock looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “What do you mean?” he replied.  John motioned with his hand.

            “The two trips.  How did you know?” he repeated.  Sherlock nodded, an understanding grin growing on his face.

            “Did you see his watch?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “Yeah?  What about it?” he replied.

            “The time was right, but the date was wrong.  Said two days ago.  Crossed the dateline twice but he didn’t alter it” the demon explained.  John frowned.

            “Within a month?  How’d you get that part?” he asked. 

            “New Breitling.  Only came out this February” Sherlock stated simply.

            “Okay.  So d’you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?” John asked as they continued walking.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Got everything I need to know already, thanks” he replied.  John looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “Hmm?” he asked.

            “That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floor.  We find the intended recipient and…” he started, deliberately trailing off to allow John to finish the sentence.

            “…they’ll lead us to the person who sent it” the angel finished.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Obvious” he replied.  John frowned.

            “Well, there’s three hundred people up there.  Who was it meant for?” he asked.

            “Pillars” the demon replied.  The angel turned and looked at him.

            “What?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed.

            “Pillars and the screens.  Very few places you can see the graffiti from.  That narrows the field considerably.  And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night.  That tells us a lot” he explained.  John huffed.

            “Does it?” he asked.  Sherlock said nothing as he and John walked through the revolving doors and out onto the street.

            “Traders come to work at all hours.  Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night.  That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight” he explained as they continued down the street before holding up a card for John to see.

            “Not many Van Coons in the phonebook” he stated before he spotted what he needed.

            “Taxi!” he suddenly called out. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

While John and Sherlock were out on their “case”, Mycroft and Lestrade were back at John’s flat, playing with Rosie.  They didn’t need to do much to keep the little girl occupied, they just had to make sure that they gave her their full attention whenever she wanted it.  Around lunch, Lestrade made a simple lunch of honey, banana, and peanut butter on toast for Rosie while he made a rich clam chowder for himself and Mycroft.  After they had eaten, the two men let Rosie out of her highchair to play while they cleaned up.  Once they had cleaned up, Mycroft sat down in one of John’s chairs and conjured up a book to read while Lestrade laid down on the couch, shutting his eyes.

            “Tired, darling?” Mycroft called out, not looking up from his book.  Lestrade grumbled a response before falling silent as his breathing began to even out.  Mycroft glanced up over his book to look at Lestrade’s sleeping figure and smiled before he went back to reading.  While he was reading, he didn’t notice Rosie waddling over to the couch, where she promptly struggled to pull herself up.  Once she was on the couch, she quietly crawled up Lestrade’s body and rested her head on his chest once she had reached her destination.  She blinked sleepily once before she shut her eyes and began to breathe deeply, slowly drifting off into slumber.  Once she had fallen asleep, Lestrade noticed that his chest was significantly heavier than when he had first fallen asleep, so he cracked open an eye, only to see a headful of blonde hair.  He blinked in confusion before it dawned on him that Rosie had fallen asleep on his chest.  He smiled sleepily as he raised an arm, draping it over Rosie’s back and holding her close as he slowly fell back to sleep.  About halfway through his book, Mycroft noticed that it was very quiet for a house that had a two-year-old toddler in it, so he looked up to find that Lestrade had his arm draped over Rosie’s small body, holding her securely as they both slept.  The elder demon smiled fondly as he quietly placed his book down and pulled out his mobile.  He snapped a photo, sent a quick text to both Sherlock and John, then placed his phone away and picked up his book, acting as if he had seen nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that you guys had to wait so long, but here is the latest update! Hope you guys enjoy it and please don't forget to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!
> 
> Also, I'm sure you're wondering why the hell I deleted one of my stories...well, I wanted to try and write the same story with a different fandom, that's all. I promise to post the new version of the story soon, and maybe even a new story as well! Who knows?!


	21. Oh Dear...

After the taxi ride, Sherlock and John stood outside a block of flats as Sherlock pressed the door buzzer marked “Van Coon”.  Releasing it, he looked into the security camera above the buzzers, waited a couple of seconds, then pressed the buzzer again.  No response.

            “So, what do we do now?  Sit here and wait for him to come back?” John asked, just as his phone buzzed.  He frowned and pulled it out, unlocking it to see Mycroft’s text.  He smiled widely at the picture and he quickly tapped Sherlock’s shoulder.  The demon turned and raised an eyebrow.

            “What is it?” he asked.  John motioned with his head to the photo and chuckled.

            “I think the babysitting is going well” he murmured fondly.  Sherlock frowned and narrowed his eyes at the photo before he smiled fondly.

            “Send that to me” he politely requested before he looked back at the number of buzzers on the wall and took a step back to look up the front of the building, presumably calculating the layout of the flats inside.  He then came back to the wall and looked at John triumphantly.

            “Just moved in” he stated.  John raised an eyebrow as he put his phone back in his pocket.

            “What?” he replied.  Sherlock pointed to another buzzer which had a handwritten label saying “Wintle”.

            “The floor above.  New label” he explained.

            “Could have just replaced it” John suggested.  Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pressed the buzzer with a new label.

            “No one ever does that” he argued as a woman’s voice came over the intercome.

            “Hello?” the woman, Ms. Wintle, answered.  Sherlock looked into the camera and smiled, putting on a “I’m just a normal, harmless human” façade.

            “Hi!  Um, I live in the flat just below you.  I-I don’t think we’ve met” he introduced as he grinned prettily into the camera, making John snicker behind him.

            “No, well uh, I’ve just moved in” Ms. Wintle replied.  Sherlock turned to throw a brief “told you so” glance at John, then turned back to the camera.

            “Actually, I’ve just locked my keys in my flat” he explained before he grimaced and bit his lip plaintively.

            “D’you want me to buzz you in?” Ms. Wintle asked.  Sherlock grinned.

            “Yeah.  And can I use your balcony?” he asked.

            “What?” Ms. Wintle asked, confused.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Not long afterwards, Sherlock flirted his and John’s way into the lucky Ms. Wintle’s flat and stood on her balcony.  He looked over the side at the ground several floors below and luckily for him, he was on the top floor where the flats had balconies that only ran halfway across the front of the flat, whereas the floor below had full-width balconies.  He climbed over the side of Ms. Wintle’s balcony and dropped down onto the one outside Van Coon’s flat, John following after him.  Taking another look over the edge, he turned and reached for the handle of the door, finding it to unlocked, which was a jolly good thing or they’d still be sitting there waiting for Lestrade to turn up with many colleagues who would want to take photographs of them stranded out there.  He and John then went inside and walked across the very elegantly decorated living room.  It was clearly the apartment of a wealthy person, with white leather furniture, shiny black tables and minimal clutter.

            “Split up” Sherlock ordered before he glanced at a pile of books on a table.  John nodded and walked through the kitchen, looking at the work surface before opening the fridge to reveal that it was full of nothing other than bottles of champagne.

            “What the hell?” he whispered to himself while Sherlock moved into the hall.

            “Found anything?” he called out.

            “No” John called back.  The demon tsked before he opened the door to the small bathroom and glanced inside at the few items on the shelf opposite.  He shut the door and walked to the larger door, which was closed.  He tried and found that it was locked.

            “John, I need your assistance!” he called out.  The angel quickly walked into the room and raised an eyebrow.

            “What do you need?” he asked.  Sherlock motioned to the door and bared his teeth, showing his fangs.

            “Locked” he spat.  John chuckled.

            “You need me to unlock it?” he asked.  Sherlock looked down at the angel and gave him puppy dog eyes.

            “Yes, please” he pleaded.  John smiled and shook his head.

            “Alright, alright, stand back” he ordered.  The demon grinned and took a step back as John stepped forward and placed a hand on the wooden door.  The door immediately splintered at his touch, revealing another room.  John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock and smirked before he motioned with his head to follow him inside as he stepped into the new room.  Sherlock smiled slightly and followed after the angel as they stepped inside, only to find a man in a suit and overcoat lying on his back on the bed, dead.  There was a pistol on the floor and the man had a small bullet hole in his right temple.

            “Oh dear” John murmured under his breath.  Sherlock hummed.

            “Indeed” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	22. Detective Inspector Dimmock

Later, the police were called and a photographer took pictures of Van Coon’s body lying on the bed.  Meanwhile, a forensics officer was dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror, and distant voices suggested that other forensic officers were elsewhere in the flat.  While they were working, Sherlock was in the bedroom with his coat off, putting on a pair of latex gloves with John standing beside him.

            “D’you think he’d lost a _lot_ of money?  I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys” the angel stated.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “We don’t know that it _was_ suicide” he replied.  John scoffed and rolled his eyes.

            “Come on.  The door was locked from the inside; we had to climb down the balcony” he exclaimed.  Sherlock ignored his comment and squatted down by a suitcase on the floor near the bed, opening the lid to at the contents.

            “Been away three days, judging by the laundry” the demon observed before noticing that there was a deep indentation in the clothing inside the case.  His eyes widened and he straightened up, looking at John.

            “Look at the case.  There was something tightly packed inside it” he stated.  The angel rolled his eyes and walked over to it, kneeling next to it.

            “Yeah, so there was.  What of it?” he asked, looking up at the demon.

            “Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti.  Why were they put there?” Sherlock asked as he walked to the foot of the bed.

            “What, some sort of code?” John asked as he stood to his feet.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Obviously” he replied before he looked closely at Van Coon’s legs – or possibly his shoes – before carefully opening the man’s jacket to look at his inside pockets.

            “Why were they painted?  If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?” he asked.

            “Well, maybe he wasn’t answering” John suggested.  Sherlock smiled as he looked up at the angel.

            “Oh good.  You follow” he stated.  John groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

            “No” he groaned.  Sherlock shot him a look before he moved onto Van Coon’s hands.

            “What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?” he asked.  John looked at him in confusion and frowned.

            “I don’t know” he replied.  Sherlock sighed as he gently pried open Van Coon’s mouth and pulled out a small black origami flower from inside.  Air hissed out from the dead man’s lungs, making John a little sick to his stomach.

            “Yes.  He was being threatened” the demon stated.  John raised an eyebrow just as a man’s voice was heard outside of the room.

            “Bag this up, will you…” the man’s voice ordered.  John then looked closely at the paper flower as Sherlock lifted an evidence bag, placing the flower inside.

            “Not by the gas board” he murmured.  Sherlock snickered softly.

            “…and see if you can get prints off this glass” the man’s voice continued.  Just then, a man dressed in plain police clothes walked into the bedroom, making Sherlock stand up from the corpse, turn, and walked towards him.

            “Ah, Sergeant.  We haven’t met” the demon greeted as he held his hand out to shake.  The young man put his hands on his hips and John growled at the sign of disrespect.

            “Yeah, I know who you are; and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any evidence” the man spat.  Lowering his hand, Sherlock gave the evidence bag to the officer and turned his best stroppy look on him while John glowered behind him.

            “I’ve phoned Lestrade.  Is he on his way?” he asked.

            “He’s busy.  _I’m_ in charge.  And it’s not Sergeant; it’s Detective Inspector.  Dimmock” the young man, hellhound, replied sharply.  Sherlock looked at him in surprise then turned and shared his surprised look with John.  Dimmock then walked out of the room, the two supernatural beings following him into the living room where he handed the bag to one of the forensics team.

            “We’re obviously looking at a suicide” the hellhound stated.  John scoffed and crossed his arms.

            “That does seem the only explanation of all the facts” he replied sarcastically, not believing the hellhound for a second.  Sherlock smirked as he took off the latex gloves and turned his back to hellhound.

            “Wrong.  It’s one _possible_ explanation of _some_ of the facts” the demon stated matter-of-factly before turning to Dimmock.

            “You’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it” he observed.

            “Like?” Dimmock sneered.

            “The wound was on the _right_ side of the head” Sherlock stated.

            “And?” Dimmock drawled.

            “Van Coon was left handed” Sherlock spat, annoyed at the officer.  He then went into an elaborate mime as he demonstrated his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand.

            “Requires quite a bit of contortion” he continued.  Dimmock raised an eyebrow.

            “Left-handed?” he repeated.  Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes.

            “Oh, I’m amazed you didn’t notice.  All you have to do is look around this flat” he growled sarcastically before pointing to the table at the side of the sofa.

            “Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left.  Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left…” he started before he glanced over at John, who nodded and continued where he left off.

            “Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left.  D’you want us to go on?” the angel sneered, glaring at the police officer.  Dimmock shook his head.

            “No, I think you’ve covered it” he replied.  John and Sherlock both smiled and crossed their arms, looking almost identical, save for their height.  Sherlock then pointed to the kitchen.

            “There’s a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left” he continued, looking at Dimmock with an impatient look on his face.

            “It’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the _right_ side of his head” he spat.

            “Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him.  _Only_ explanation of _all_ the facts” the demon stated firmly.  The hellhound shook his head.

            “But the gun: why…” he started when John groaned.

            “He was _waiting_ for the killer.  He’d been threatened” he growled.  Dimmock turned towards the angel and blinked in surprise.

            “What?” he asked.  Sherlock started to walk away, putting on his scarf, coat, and gloves as he did, leaving John with Dimmock.

            “Today at the bank.  Sort of a warning” the angel explained as he walked away from the hellhound, following after Sherlock.

            “He fired a shot when his attacker came in” the demon called as John quickly caught up with him.  Dimmock stared after the pair before he shook his head and followed after them.

            “And the bullet?” he called out as he rushed after them.

            “Went through the open window” Sherlock replied.

            “Oh, come on!  What are the chances of _that_?!” the hellhound exclaimed.

            “Wait until you get the ballistics report.  The bullet in his brain wasn’t fired from his gun.  I guarantee it” Sherlock stated.

            “But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?” Dimmock demanded.

            “Good!  You’re finally asking the right questions” the demon exclaimed condescendingly as he dramatically slammed his hand into his glove.  He then flounced off, leaving John and Dimmock alone.  John glanced over his shoulder and smirked at the hellhound before he followed after his partner.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At a restaurant, Sebastian Wilkes was having some lunch with some clients or work colleagues.

            “…and he’s left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!” the Demogorgon laughed.  Just then, Sherlock and John appeared next to their table.

            “It was a threat.  That’s what the graffiti meant” Sherlock stated.  Sebastian frowned and looked up at the demon.

            “I’m kind of in a meeting.  Can you make an appointment with my secretary?” he asked.  John crossed his arms and glared at the man.

            “I don’t think this can wait” he snarled.  Sebastian quickly looked up at Sherlock, who shrugged.

            “Sorry, Sebastian.  One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed” he explained.  Sebastian’s eyes widened.

            “What?” he exclaimed. 

            “Van Coon.  The police are at his flat” John answered.

            “Killed?” Sebastian asked, shocked.  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

            “Sorry to interfere with everyone’s digestion.  Still wanna make an appointment?  Would, maybe, nine o’clock at Scotland Yard suit?” he asked sarcastically.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Shortly afterwards, Sebastian, Sherlock, and John relocated to the toilets in the restaurant where Sebastian was washing his hands.

            “Harrow; Oxford.  Very bright guy.  Worked in Asia for a while, so…” the Demogorgon started. 

            “…you gave him the Hong Kong accounts” John finished.

            “Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later.  Nerves of steel, Eddie had” Sebastian praised as he dried his hands on a towel.

            “Who’d wanna kill him?” John asked.  Sebastian chuckled sadly.

            “We all make enemies” he replied.  John huffed and crossed his arms.

            “You don’t all end up with a bullet through your temple” he snapped.  Sebastian sighed as his phone beeped.

            “Not usually.  ‘Scuse me” he apologized as he looked at his phone. 

            “It’s my Chairman.  The police have been on to him.  Apparently, they’re telling him it was a suicide” he murmured.

            “Well, they’ve got it worng, Sebastian.  He was murdered” Sherlock stated from where he was leaning against the restroom wall with his arms crossed.

            “Well, I’m afraid they don’t see it like that” Sebastian sighed.  Sherlock’s heterochromic eyes sharpened.

            “Seb” the demon started sternly.

            “…and neither does my boss.  I hired you to do a job.  Don’t get side-tracked” the Demogorgon ordered before he left the restroom.  John waited until the man left the room before he turned to look at Sherlock.

            “I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards” he grumbled.  Sherlock huffed.

            “Obviously not” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been updating, I've been working on my Gen Chem take home exam, so my spring break has been a little busy.
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story, please don't forget to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	23. Thank You

That night, at Earl’s Court, a bald overweight man in his early forties was running frantically down the street, a hard-cover book clasped in one hand as he repeatedly looked behind him as he ran.  Reaching his front door, he whimpered as he fumbled with his door keys before finally getting open.  Running upstairs, he unlocked the door to his flat and hurried inside, slamming the door and pushing a bolt across.  He scurried up the flight of stairs leading to the main flat, throwing his book onto a pile of other books strewn all the way up the stairs, running into his living room.  He stopped in the middle room before turning around, his face covered in sweat and full of terror at the sigh that greeted him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the National Antique’s Museum, the director of the museum walked across Andy, who was sitting at a table cleaning an ancient pot.

            “I need you to get over to Crispians” she ordered as she held up a catalogue.

            “Two Ming vases up for auction – Chenghua.  Will you appraise them?” she continued.  Andy frowned.

            “Er…Soo Lin should go.  She’s the expert” he replied.  The director pursed her lips.

            “Soo Lin has resigned her job. I need _you_ ” she declared before she walked away.  Once she had left, Andy turned and looked sadly at Soo Lin’s table behind him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Later that day, Andy stood outside the front door of Soo Lin’s flat, which was located in London’s Chinatown.  Her doorbell had a handwritten name tag above it, showing her name – Soo Lin Yao – with a flower drawn in place of the dot over the “I” and a couple of other flowers in the right-hand corner.  Andy pressed the doorbell before stepping back to look up at the first-floor windows of the flat which was above a shop called “The Lucky Cat”.  When no one answered his ring, he rummaged in his pockets, took out an envelope and pen, scribbled a note on the envelope then bent down to the letterbox and pushed it through before walking away.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, John and Sherlock were back in John’s flat, relieving Mycroft and Lestrade of their babysitting duties.  Lestrade and Mycroft both bid their goodbyes to the angel and the demon before they each waved goodbye to little Rosie, who waved back eagerly.

            “Bye Unca!  Bye Geg!” she called out as the two men stepped out of the flat.  Once it was just the three of them, Sherlock immediately went to work while John took Rosie to her room to lay her down for a nap, since Mycroft and Lestrade made sure to keep her very awake after her nap on Lestrade’s chest.  Once he put her down, John walked back out to the living room and saw that Sherlock had printed out the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William’s portrait, sticking them across the mirror above the fireplace.  He was sitting on one of the dining chair with his back to the dining table, his fingers steepled under his chin as he stared at the photos while various symbols in different languages flashed before his mind’s eye.

            “Could you pass me a pen?” he called out, making John look at him.

            “Hmm?  Oh yeah” he replied as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and, without even looking at Sherlock, tossed it in his direction.  Sherlock lifted his left hand and caught it without looking away from the photographs on the wall.  Once he caught it, John walked over to the mirror and looked more closely at the photos.

            “What’s this?” he asked.  Sherlock ignored his question and instead walked over to the dining table and looked at the web page on an open computer that he had conjured up.  The lead article on the “Online News” page was headlined, _“Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police.”_   Next to it was a photograph of the bald man and the article read: _“An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night.  Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl’s Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in…”_

           “ _The intruder who can walk through walls_ ” John repeated in surprise.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Happened last night.  Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon” he added.  John looked at him with wide eyes.

            “God.  You think…” he started when Sherlock nodded sharply.

            “He killed another one” he replied.  John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

            “Mycroft!” he suddenly shouted.  The elder demon and Lestrade appeared suddenly in his living room, both a little surprised.

            “Something the matter John?” Lestrade asked.  John sighed and ran a through his hair again.

            “We need you to watch Rosie for a little while more…we found another part to our case” he explained.  Mycroft and Lestrade nodded in understanding before Mycroft cleared his throat and clapped his hands.

            “Alright, off you go!  Off!  We’ll handle the little princess” he declared.  John nodded and smiled as he walked towards the door.

            “Come on Sherlock” he called out.  The demon nodded and quickly stood to his feet, pausing momentarily to stand before Mycroft and Lestrade.

            “Thank you” he whispered before he followed after John, leaving the kitsune and elder demon in shock.  Sherlock Holmes had just thanked them for something.  That was a first that they would never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I haven't updated in a while, I was busy enjoying my spring break and working on my Gen Chem II take home test, which took up a lot of my time. Hope you guys enjoy this update and please don't forget to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	24. Five Minutes

At the New Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Dimmock sat at his desk and folded his arms in exasperation as Sherlock stood on the other side of the desk, typing on a laptop.

            “Brian Lukis, freelance journalist.  Murdered in his flat…” he murmured before he turned the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page that John was looking at earlier.

            “…doors locked from the inside” he continued.  John nodded in agreement from where he was standing next to Sherlock.

            “You’ve gotta admit it, it’s similar” he added.  Dimmock scowled at the computer.

            “Both men killed by someone who can through solid walls” John explained, frowning after his statement as if he couldn’t believe he had just said that.

            “Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?” Sherlock asked.  Dimmock squirmed, not meeting his eyes, making Sherlock look up exasperatedly before sighing pointedly.

            “You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?” he asked.  Dimmock nodded.

            “Mmhm, I have” he replied.

            “And the shot that killed him; was it fired from his own gun?” John asked, smirking.  Dimmock shook his head.

            “No” he replied reluctantly.  Sherlock smiled slightly.

            “No.  So, this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel” he spat.  Dimmock looked back at him silently, making him growl softly as he leaned forward over the desk.

            “I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry” he hissed before he leaned back and smirked at the inspector as he motioned to the computer with his head.

            “Five minutes in his flat” he ordered.

  

~*~*~*~*~

 

At Lukis’ flat, Sherlock ducked under the police tap at the bottom of the stairs inside the door before quickly heading upstairs, quickly followed by Dimmock and John.  Looking around at everything as he went, the demon walked into the living room and noticed that there was an empty, open suitcase on the floor.  Nearby, on the carpet, was a black origami flower, similar to the one he had pulled from Van Coon’s mouth.  There were books everywhere on the desk, on bookshelves, and scattered about on the floor.  Several open newspapers were also lying on the floor.  He then walked over to the kitchen area and looked through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings before pushing back the net curtain to get a better look.

            “Four floors up.  That’s why they think they’re safe.  Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they’re impregnable” he murmured before he walked into the middle of the room again.

            “They don’t reckon for one second that there’s another way in” he continued as he turned back towards the stairs, noticing a skylight above the landing.

            “I don’t understand” Dimmock called out.

            “You’re dealing with a killer who can climb” Sherlock deadpanned as he went out onto the landing before hopping up onto a box to get a closer look at the skylight, which was high up on the angled roof.

            “What are you doing?” the hellhound demanded.

            “He clings to the walls like an insect” Sherlock replied as he unhooked the latch and pushed the windows upwards.

            “That’s how he got in” he whispered.

            “What?!” Dimmock exclaimed.

            “Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight” Sherlock explained.

            “You’re not serious!  Like Spiderman?!” the hellhound shouted.

            “He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon” Sherlock continued.

            “Oh, h-hold on!” Dimmock shouted, laughing in disbelief.

            “And of course that’s how he got into the bank.  He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace” Sherlock interrupted before he stepped down onto the landing and looked around again.

            “We have to find out what connects these two men” he declared before his eyes suddenly fell on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase.  Humming thoughtfully, he jumped down a few stairs before picking up a particular book that had fallen open to its front pages, which showed that it had been borrowed from West Kensington Library.  Slamming the book shut, Sherlock took it with him as he headed off down the stairs, John following at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Thank you all for the nice comments, they really mean a lot. Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	25. Follow the Holmes Brothers

After a taxi ride, Sherlock and John were once again on an escalator, this time inside West Kensington Library.  Once they reached the top, Sherlock quickly made his way to the aisle where Lukis’ book came from.

            “Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died” he deduced as he checked the reference number stuck on the bottom of the book’s spine.  He then walked to the correct place among the shelves and started pulling books, examining them.  John, following his lead, pulled out some books on a nearby shelf on the other side of the aisle before letting out a gasp.

            “Sherlock” he called out.  The demon turned, saw him staring into the gap left by the books he removed, and grinned as he walked over to the angel, kissing the man on the forehead before he turned towards the shelf and waved his hand, removing a huge handful of books.  He then waved his hand once more, removing the other books to reveal the same two symbols that were sprayed across Sir William Shad’s office were on sprayed onto the back of the shelf.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back at John’s flat, photographs of the shelf were added to the earlier photos stuck around the mirror in the living room as Mycroft, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade stood before the fireplace, looking at all the photographs.

            “So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in” Sherlock began.

            “Hours later, he dies” Mycroft continued.

            “The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it’ll be seen; Lukis goes home” John continued.

            “Late that night, he dies too” Lestrade finished.  John looked at all of the pictures and sighed before he looked over at Sherlock.

            “Why did they die, Sherlock?” he asked softly.  Sherlock stepped forward and ran his fingers over the line painted across Sir William’s face.

            “Only the cipher can tell us” he replied as he thoughtfully tapped his finger against the photo, his expression sharpening.  Mycroft glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “You have an idea, brother mine” he observed.  Sherlock looked over his shoulder at him and smiled slightly.

            “Indeed, I do.  Follow me” he ordered as he walked towards the door.

            “Bring Rosie!” he added before he opened the door and stormed out.  Mycroft nodded and quickly walked into Rosie’s room, carefully grabbing the toddler out of her crib before he walked out of her room and over to where John and Lestrade were standing.

            “Let’s go” he ordered before he followed after his brother.  John and Lestrade nodded, quickly following after the Holmes Brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early Morning Update! Hope you guys enjoy this update and thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos! They absolutely make my day!
> 
> Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	26. Need Advice

In Trafalgar Square, the four men were walking through the center of the square, heading towards the National Gallery.

            “The world’s run on codes and ciphers, John.  From the million-pound security system at the bank to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment” Sherlock stated, making John sigh as he walked quickly next to the demon.

            “Yes, okay, but…” he started.

            “…but it’s all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods.  This is different.  It’s an ancient device.  Modern code-breaking methods won’t unravel it” Sherlock finished.

            “Where are we headed?” Lestrade demanded as he and Mycroft, who was carrying Rosie, followed after the pair.

            “I need to ask some advice” Sherlock called back.  John, Mycroft, and Lestrade’s eyes widened.

            “What?!  Sorry?!” John demanded.  Sherlock threw them a black look as John smiled in disbelief.

            “You heard me perfectly; I’m not saying it again” he growled.  Mycroft shook his head.

            “You need advice?” he exclaimed.

            “On painting, yes.  I need to talk to an expert” Sherlock replied as he led John and the others towards the entrance of the National Gallery and straight around it to the rear of the building where a young Preta had spray-stenciled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands, but the image had a pig’s snout in place of a human nose.  A large canvas bag was laying at the man’s feet, holding spray cans in both hands.  With one of the cans, he sprayed his tag, “RAZ”, below the image before adding the finishing touches to his “artwork”.  He continued spraying, unperturbed, as Sherlock, Joh, Mycroft, and Lestrade approached.

            “Part of a new exhibition” Raz called out.

            “Interesting” Sherlock replied, disinterested.

            “I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy” Raz declared before he chuckled.

            “Catchy” Mycroft drawled as he began to bounce Rosie in his arms.

            “I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner” Raz continued as he continued spraying before looking over at Sherlock.

            “Can we do this while I’m working?” he asked.  Sherlock said nothing as he took his phone from his coat pocket and held it out towards the Preta, who turned around and tossed one of the spray cans to John, who instinctively caught it, and looked at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment as Raz took Sherlock’s phone and scrolled through the photographs of the yellow ciphers from Sir William’s office and library.

            “Know the author?” Sherlock asked.

            “Recognize the paint.  It’s like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc” Raz answered.

            “What about the symbols; d’you recognize them?” Lestrade asked, crossing his arms.

            “Not even sure it’s a proper language” Raz answered, squinting at the photographs.

            “Two men have been murdered, Raz.  Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them” Sherlock growled.

            “What, and this is all you’ve got to go on?  It’s hardly much now, is it?” the Preta teased, looking up at the four men.  Mycroft’s eyes flashed as he handed Rosie off to Lestrade, who immediately took her in his arms.  The elder demon then stepped forward and pointed his umbrella at Raz.

            “Are you going to help us or not?” he growled, eyes flicking to red.  Raz’s eyes widened and he quickly nodded.

            “I’ll ask around” he replied.  Mycroft nodded as Sherlock hummed.

            “Somebody must know something about it” he grumbled.

            “Oi!” a voice shouted not too far from them, making the five men turn to see two Community Officers hurrying towards them.  Raz took off, only leaving the four men and sleepy Rosie to deal with the Community Officers.

            “What the hell do you think you’re doing?  This gallery is a listed public building” one of the Officers exclaimed.  Mycroft then stepped forward and stood before Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Rosie, blocking them with his body.

            “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, we are in the middle of an investigation, so if you could just move along, I won’t have to do anything drastic” he stated with a pleasantly dangerous smile.  The two officers looked at each other before they pulled out their guns and pointed it at the four men.  When Rosie saw the guns, her sleepy eyes widened, and she let out a terrified shriek.  Mycroft snapped his head towards his niece before he turned back to the two officers.

            “You really shouldn’t have done that” he growled before his eyes melted red and large red wings unfurled from his back as he yanked off the fabric part of his umbrella, revealing his rapier while Sherlock’s heterochromic eyes flicked to black as he summoned a spear made of sulfur and ash, black wings unfurling from his back.  John’s entire body lit on fire and he growled at the officers as Lestrade gently Rosie down on the ground before he shifted into a large, snarling silver kitsune.  The two Community Officers looked at the four supernatural beings with fear in their eyes and quickly lowered their guns.

            **“That’s better”** Mycroft growled as he pulled his wings against his back and flicked his eyes back to normal.  Lestrade shifted back, Sherlock dissolved his spear, flicked his eyes back, pulled his wings against his back, and John snuffed out his flames.

            “Now, I don’t want to see you two anymore…understood?” Mycroft asked calmly, pointing his rapier at the two men.  The community officers took one look at the sword and quickly scrambled away, tripping over themselves to get away from the four supernatural beings.  Mycroft then cleared his throat and turned to face his brother, the angel, his lover, and his niece, who was beginning to sniffle.  The elder demon quickly sheathed his sword and handed his umbrella to Lestrade before he knelt down and scooped Rosie into his arms.

            “Hush love, hush now, it’s alright, those men can’t hurt you, hush” he soothed as he hugged and rocked Rosie in his arms.  Rosie let out a little teary laugh as she clutched at Mycroft’s suit jacket and once she had settled down, Mycroft looked at his family.

            “Now, let’s get on with this case, shall we?” he instructed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the National Antiques Museum, Andy was pestering the museum’s Director about Soo Lin’s abrupt departure.

            “She was right in the middle of an important piece of restoration.  Why would she suddenly resign?” he demanded.  The Director sighed.

            “Family problems.  She said so in her letter” she replied.

            “But she doesn’t have a family.  She came to this country on her own” the Bolla exclaimed.

            “Andy…” the Director started.

            “Look, those teapots, those ceramics: they’ve become her obsession.  She’s been working on restoring them for weeks.  I-I can’t believe that she would just abandon them” he blubbered.  The Director looked at him pointedly.

            “Perhaps she was getting a bit of unwanted attention” she remarked before she walked away.  Andy blinked before he looked around awkwardly at other colleagues in the room who had been listening in but who now abruptly turned away.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in John’s flat, Sherlock was standing at the fireplace again, his head lowered as he consulted a book while above him, the mirror was almost completely covered because he had added several sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them.  Behind him, Lestrade and Mycroft were playing and cooing with Rosie while John was sipping a cup of tea.

            “John?” Sherlock called out.  The angel looked up and raised an eyebrow.

            “Yeah?” he answered.

            “Can you go to the police station and ask about the journalist?  His personal effect will have been impounded.  Get hold of his diary or something that will tell us his movements” he ordered.  John groaned as he downed the last of his tea, placing his cup on the table next to his chair.

            “What have I said about ordering me around, Sherlock Holmes?” he asked as he walked towards the door.

            “To not do it?” the demon called back.

            “That’s right!” John called as he stepped out the door.  Lestrade chuckled and shook his head as Sherlock stood to his feet and grabbed his coat.

            “Oh, you’ve got it bad, mate” he teased.  Sherlock glared at him as he shrugged on his coat.

            “Shut it, foxy” he growled before he leaned down and kissed Rosie on the head.

            “Be back soon, sweetheart" he cooed before he looked at Mycroft and Lestrade.

            “Gonna go and see Van Coon’s P.A.  If we retrace their steps, somewhere they’ll coincide” he stated before he walked over to the door and stepped out.  Mycroft and Lestrade looked at each other before sighing.

            “I’ll take your brother” Lestrade stated as he lifted Rosie into his arms.

            “I’ll take the angel” Mycroft replied as he picked up his umbrella.  They then nodded to each other before Mycroft snapped his fingers, sending them to their respective partners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, don't fucking mess with Mycroft. Just...don't. 
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	27. Different Partners

At the Shad Sanderson Bank, Sherlock was standing inside Van Coon’s office beside his personal assistant, Amanda, as she looked at an online calendar.

            “Flew back from Dalian Friday.  Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team” she observed.

            “Can you print me up a copy?” Sherlock asked.  Amanda nodded.

            “Sure” she replied.

            “What about the day he died?  Can you tell me where he was?” Lestrade called out as he walked into the room, Rosie in his arms.  Sherlock looked over at him with wide eyes as Amanda looked at him before grimacing.

            “Sorry.  Bit of a gap” she replied as she looked at the screen.  She then paused, realizing something.

            “I have all his receipts” she stated.  Sherlock and Lestrade looked at each other before looking back at her, nodding.

            “That would be great” Lestrade agreed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, at the New Scotland Yard, Dimmock stood at a desk and rummaged through a box of Brian Lukis’ possessions while John stood on the other side.

            “Your friend…” the hellhound started.

            “Partner” John corrected.  Dimmock looked up and rolled his eyes before he continued rummaging.

            “He’s an arrogant sod” he stated.

            “Do be careful about what you say about my brother, Sergeant Dimmock” Mycroft ordered as he stepped into the room.  John looked over at him and raised an eyebrow before he smirked.

            “It’s Detective Inspector” Dimmock growled.  Mycroft scoffed.

            “The only Detective Inspector I know is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.  And you will never be him” he stated matter-of-factly.  Dimmock flinched, almost as if he had been slapped, before he grabbed a diary and handed it to John.

            “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?  The journalist’s diary?” he asked.  John nodded, taking it.

            “Thank you” he replied before he walked over to Mycroft and opened the diary so that they could both read the contents.  They flicked through it, opening it to a page which had been bookmarked with a boarding pass to Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport to London Heathrow Airport on Zhuang Airlines.

            “Interesting” Mycroft murmured before he snapped his fingers, transporting both of them out of the Yard.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back at the bank, Sherlock, Lestrade, and Rosie were looking at the receipts that Amanda had spread on her desk.

            “What kind of boss was he, Amanda?  Appreciative?” Sherlock asked, just as Rosie let out a little whine, making the demon conjure up a little stuffed gray otter, which he handed to her, instantly quieting her.  Amanda smiled at the toddler before she looked at Sherlock and Lestrade, shaking her head.

            “Um, no.  That’s not a word I’d use.  The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag” she replied as Sherlock knelt on the floor to give himself easier access to the receipts.  While he was taking off his gloves, he noticed a pump-action bottle of luxury hand lotion at the back of the desk.

            “Like that hand cream.  He bought that for you, didn’t he?” he asked.  Fiddling nervously with her hair pain, Amanda looked at him in surprise as he continued to shuffle through the paperwork before picking up a receipt from a licensed taxi that was dated 22 March 2010 and timed at 10:35 for £18.50.  He then handed it up to Lestrade, who looked at it closely.

            “Look at this one.  Got a taxi from home on the day he died.  Eighteen pounds fifty” he stated.

            “That would get him to the office” Lestrade replied.  Sherlock shook his head and pointed to the receipt.

            “Not rush hour; check the time.  Mid-morning.  Eighteen would get him as far as—” he started.

            “The West End.  I remember him saying” Amanda interrupted.  Sherlock nodded as he discovered a London Underground ticket with the same date on it that was issued at “Picadilly”, which had been misspelled.  He then handed that ticket up to Lestrade, who looked at that receipt closely as well.

            “Underground.  Printed at one in Piccadilly” he declared.  Lestrade hummed as he shifted Rosie in his arm, since it was slowly going numb.

            “So, he got a Tube back to the office.  Why would he get a taxi into town then take the Tube back?” he wondered.

            “Because he was delivering something heavy.  Didn’t want to lug a package up the escalator” Sherlock answered, still going through the receipts.

            “Delivering?” Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow.  Sherlock nodded.

            “To somewhere near Piccadilly Station.  Dropped the package, delivered it and then…” he trailed off when he found another receipt, making him quickly stand to his feet as he looked at it.  It was from Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano.  Lestrade walked over to him and plucked the receipt out of his hand, reading it before he smirked.

            “…stopped on his way.  He got peckish” he declared.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Come on, let’s go find that little restaurant” he commanded, turning on his heels and walking out of the room.  Lestrade nodded goodbye to Amanda before he quickly followed after Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, so Sherlock and Lestrade and Mycroft and John. The pairs have split up and have gone with each other to help figure out who the hell killed these two guys.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story and if you are, please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	28. We Found It!

On the streets of London, Sherlock and Lestrade found the espresso bar and as they were walking past it, Sherlock talked to himself out loud while Lestrade carried a softly babbling Rosie.

            “So, you bought your lunch from here en route to the station, but where were you headed from?  Where did the taxi drop you…” he murmured to himself, spinning around as he walked before suddenly bumping into someone, who had approached from behind and was also distracted, not watching where they were going.  It was John, who was engrossed in looking down at Lukis’ diary while Mycroft walked behind him.  Sherlock grunted as they collided, making John look up in surprise.

            “Oh, hello” he greeted as Mycroft nodded to Sherlock and Lestrade before stopping besides the angel.  Sherlock then looked down at John and cleared his throat.

            “Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died—whatever was hidden inside that case.  I’ve managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information…” he rambled quickly, making John sigh and run his hands through his hair.

            “Sherlock—” he started.

            “…credit card bills, receipts.  He flew back from China, then he came back here” Sherlock interrupted.

            “Sherlock—” John tried again.

            “Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don’t know where, but—” Sherlock started when Mycroft held up his umbrella and pointed to the other side of the road.

            “That shop over there, brother mine” the elder demon interrupted.  Sherlock and Lestrade looked at the shop before Sherlock looked back at his brother, frowning.

            “How can you tell?” he demanded.  John held up the little book that was in his hand.

            “Lukis’ diary” he replied as he showed Sherlock the entry in the diary.

            “He was here too.  He wrote down the address” he elaborated before he turned and headed towards the shop, Mycroft following behind.  Lestrade and Rosie followed after them, leaving Sherlock alone.

            “Oh” the demon mumbled to himself before he quickly followed after the others.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The four men, plus one little girl, walked into a touristy shop, which consisted largely of decorative cats that were sitting up on their hind legs with one front paw raised and the paws on some of the cats were waving back forth.  John greeted the female Chinese shopkeeper politely while Mycroft, Sherlock, and Lestrade filed in after him.

            “Hello” the angel greeted as they looked around the shop at the items on display while the shopkeeper lifted one of the cats from the desk.

            “You want lucky cat?” she asked.  Mycroft, Lestrade, Sherlock, and John turned towards her and shook their heads.

            “No, thanks.  No” John replied.  Sherlock glanced over at him and smirked.

            “Ten pound.  Ten pound!” the shopkeeper bargained.  Mycroft shook his head.

            “No” he stated this time.  The shopkeeper shook her head.

            “I think your wife, she will like!” she exclaimed.  The four men froze at the statement before they each slowly shook themselves and began looking around again.

            “No, thank you” Sherlock growled this time, effectively shutting the woman up.  John then walked over to one of the tables which had small ceramic painted handle-less cups on it while Sherlock examined a rack displaying claw statues.  John picked up one of the cups and turned it over to look at the price tag, his hand immediately beginning to tremble when he saw the Chinese symbol stuck on the underside.  It was the same sort-of upside down eight with a line above it which was painted beside Sir William’s portrait and on the library shelf.

            “Sherlock” he called out.  Sherlock, who had picked up one of the statues, put it back on shelf and walked over to him.

            “The label there” John murmured.

            “Yes, I see it” Sherlock replied softly.

            “Exactly the same as the cipher” John added before he put the cup back, clearing his throat awkwardly.  Sherlock then lifted his head as everything started to make sense.

            “Come on boys” he suddenly called out as he walked towards the door.  John, Mycroft, and Lestrade turned to look at him with raised eyebrows bfore they quickly followed after him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Shortly after leaving the shop, the four men walked down the street.

            “It’s an ancient number system!  Hangzhou” Sherlock explained as they walked, the symbols from that system flashing before his mind’s eye.

            “These days, only street traders use it.  Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library” he continued as he walked over to a greengrocer’s, which had some of its wares on display outside the shop.  The various boxes handwritten signs on them, giving the names of the vegetables in the both Chinese and English and underneath was the cost of that particular item in both Hangzhou and English.  He picked up various signs, checking the symbols.

            “Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect” Mycroft explained as they continued walking.  John hummed before he spotted a sign with the upside down eight and slash above it, its English equivalent beneath.  His eyes widened in shock.

            “It’s a fifteen.  What we thought was the artist’s tag – it’s a number fifteen!” he exclaimed.

            “And the blindfold – the horizontal line?  That was a number as well” Lestrade added as he shifted Rosie in his arms before showing John a price tag that had the almost-horizontal line at the top, and “£1” written underneath.

            “The Chinese number one, John” Sherlock exclaimed, grinning triumphantly.

            “We’ve found it!” the angel exclaimed.  Sherlock nodded in agreement before he turned and walked away.  As John turned to follow him, he noticed an oriental-looking woman with dark hair and dark sunglasses taking a photograph nearby.  Still wearing her dark sunglasses, she raised her camera and pointed it towards him, snapping a picture.  John blinked as someone walked across her, obscuring his view of her for a moment, and by the time the person had passed, the woman disappeared.  John frowned before he followed after Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade following after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are getting closer to figuring out who killed these two men. Things are getting exciting. Hope you guys are enjoying this story!
> 
> Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	29. Apartment Attacker

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock, Mycroft, John, and Lestrade were staking out the tourist shop, The Lucky Cat, which was the shop that Andy Galbraith stood outside of when he tried Soo Lin’s doorbell.  Sitting at a table in the window of a restaurant opposite the shop, Sherlock was writing the two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents onto a paper napkin while Mycroft sat next him.  John, Rosie, and Lestrade sat opposite them, both men also writing notes.

            “Two men travel back from China.  Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium.  What did they see?” John asked.  Mycroft shook his head.

            “It’s not what they saw; it’s what they both brought back in those suitcase” he stated.  John looked at him with a raised eyebrow, making Mycroft laugh.

            “I pick up things quickly, Mr. Watson.  Also, Gregory filled me in on a few details” he explained.  John nodded before he cleared his throat.

            “And you don’t mean duty free” he added.

            “Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market” Sherlock stated.

            “Lost five million—” John started.

            “—made it back in a week” Sherlock finished.  John frowned.

            “Hmm…” he hummed.

            “That’s how he made such easy money” Sherlock stated.

            “He was a smuggler” Mycroft murmured.

            “A guy like him – it would have been perfect.  Business man” Sherlock mused.  Lestrade nodded.

            “Mmhm” he hummed.

            “—making frequent trips to Asia.  And Lukis was the same…” John continued.

            “…a journalist writing about China” Sherlock murmured.

            “Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop off” Mycroft assumed.

            “But why did they die?  I mean, it doesn’t make sense.  If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they finished the job?” Lestrade questioned, looking at the elder demon.  Sherlock hummed as he sat back thoughtfully for a few second before he smiled, realizing the answer.

            “What if one of them was light-fingered?” he asked aloud.  Mycroft, John, and Lestrade looked at him while Rosie played with the little stuffed animal that Sherlock had created for her.

            “How d’you mean?” John replied.

            “Stole something; something from the hoard” Sherlock explained.

            “And the killer doesn’t know which of them took it, so he threatens them both.  Right” Lestrade grumbled.  Sherlock looked out the window towards the shop before raising his eyes to the window above it.  Looking down to the ground level again, his gaze sharpened.

            “Remind me…” he started, making the three supernatural men look at him as he focused on a Yellow Pages phone directory sealed in a plastic wrapper that had been left outside the door to the flat beside the Lucky Cat.

            “…when was the last time it rained?” he asked.  Before anyone could answer, he quickly slipped out of the booth and left the restaurant.  John, Mycroft, and Lestrade looked at one another before John took his daughter into his arms and waited for Lestrade and Mycroft to exit the booth before he exited as well and followed after his partner.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 Across the road, Sherlock bent down to look at the Yellow Pages.  The plastic wrapper still had drops of water on it and the top of it had broken open a little, so he ran his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory before he straightened up.

            “It’s been here since Monday” he declared as he pressed Soo Lin’s doorbell.  He only waited a couple of seconds before looking to his right and headed off in that direction, since there was an alleyway beside the flat.

            “No one’s been in that flat for at least three days” he stated as he and the others walked down the alley.  John rolled his eyes as he shifted Rosie, who had her head leaning on his shoulder as she drifted off to sleep, in his arms.

            “Could’ve gone on holiday” he suggested, making Sherlock glance over at him.

            “D’you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?” he asked as they reached the rear of the building before looking up to see a cantilevered metal fire escape above his head.  Taking a short run at it, he jumped up and grabbed the end, pulling it down towards him until it touched the ground, then ran up the steps towards the open window of the flat.  As he reached the top, the ladder swung back to the original horizontal position behind him.

            “Sherlock!” John exclaimed before he groaned and turned to Mycroft and Lestrade, who were looking at him with confused eyes.  He then held out Rosie to Mycroft, who took her and cradled her to his chest.

            “Take Rosie home and put her down for her nap.  Just watch over her and make sure nothing happens to her, please.  I’ll deal with this nonsense” he grumbled, motioning to the apartment.  Mycroft smirked before he nodded and turned on his heels, walking back out of the alley, Lestrade following right behind.

            “Mycroft!  Greg!” John called out suddenly, thinking of something.  The kitsune and elder demon stopped and turned to look at him as he smiled tiredly.

            “Thank you.  For all of this.  Really, I am truly grateful” he murmured.  Mycroft and Lestrade smiled and dipped their heads in response before they began walking again, disappearing into a cloud of smoke.  Once they were gone, John turned and ran back along the alley to the front of the building.  Meanwhile, Sherlock climbed in through the window into the kitchen, crying out in muffled alarm as he almost knocked a vase of flowers off the table beside the window.  Catching it before it hit the floor, he looked down and saw a wet patch on the rug in the precise place where the vase would have hit if it had reached the floor.  Straightening up, he called out of the open window, unaware that John was no longer there.

            “Someone else has been here” he called out as he put the vase back onto table.  He then looked around, talking too quietly for John to hear if he _was_ still nearby.

            “Someone else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase, just like I did” he mumbled as he looked around the kitchen before bending down to the washing machine, opening it.  Taking out an item of Soo Lin’s unmentionables, he sniffed it and grimaced.  Downstairs, John rang on the doorbell. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock put the item back into the washing machine and pushed the door closed before reaching for a tea towel hanging up nearby.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “D’you think maybe you could let me in?” John called from outside. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock felt the tea towel and, once he found that it was dry, moved onwards. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Downstairs, John bent down to the letterbox and pushed it open. 

            “Sherlock, open the door please” he called the gap. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the apartment, Sherlock a took a pint of milk from the fridge, took off the lid, and sniffed the contents.

            “I’m not the first” he called out as he put the bottle back in the fridge. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

With the everyday noise of the street all around him, John couldn’t hear what he was saying.  He bent down and put his ear to the letterbox which he was still holding open.

            “What?!” he shouted. 

            “Somebody’s been in here before me!” Sherlock shouted louder. 

            “What are you saying?” John shouted.   Sherlock took his pocket magnifier from his coat and looked down to where a foot had rucked up the rug, leaving an impression of the intruder’s shoe.

            “Small, but…athletic” he whispered more to himself than John before straightening up, looking thoughtful.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Outside, John let go of the letterbox and straightened up, sighing in exasperation.

            “I’m wasting my breath” he grumbled before he walked a couple of paces away from the door, glaring around in annoyance, before turning back and ringing the doorbell again.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Inside the apartment, Sherlock picked up a framed photograph of two young Chinese children – a boy and a girl and noticed that a someone had pressed a fresh thumbprint against the image of the girl.  He quickly pulled out his magnifier and held it over the fingerprints as he gently ran his gloved fingers along them to gauge the size.

            “Small, strong hands” he whispered.  Closing the magnifier, he put down the photograph.

            “Our acrobat” he murmured before he frowned, looking around.

            “But why didn’t he close the window when he left—” he started when he stopped as he realized the truth, rolling his eyes at himself.

            “Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He’s still here” he murmured.  He looked around the room and noticed an ornately decorated free-standing folding screen shielding the bed.  Putting his magnified into his pocket, he walked carefully towards it and grabbed the edge of the screen, pulling it back.  Two stuffed toys stared back at him in startled terror from the bedside table.  Before he had a chance to apologize to them, someone quickly wrapped a long white silk scarf around his neck from behind and bundled him to the floor on his back, strangling him.  Sherlock grabbed at the scarf, trying to relieve the pressure on his throat but the assailant – dressed in all black – continued to throttle him. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Downstairs, John bent to the letterbox and flipped it open again.

            “Any time you want to include me” he shouted.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “John!  John!” Sherlock shouted faintly as he struggled against his attacker.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Downstairs, John straightened up again and shook head in frustration.

            “No, I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with—” he started as he stormed back to the letterbox and flipped it open.

            “—my MASSIVE INTELLECT!” he shouted, fuming, before he dropped the letterbox again.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Upstairs, Sherlock was startling to lose consciousness.  As his struggles became weaker and his hands fell clear of the scarf, the attacker released his grip. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Downstairs, John angrily rang on the doorbell again.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Upstairs, while Sherlock laid still on the floor with his eyes half closed, the assailant shoved something into the demon’s coat pocket before running off.  Sherlock choked and coughed, tugging the scar from around his neck as he rolled onto his front before getting up onto his hands and knees.  As the attacker disappeared through the beaded curtain into the kitchen, Sherlock groaned and pulled his own scarf loose, gasping as he got his breath back.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Downstairs, John looked at his watch in irritation and shook his head, considering just leaving.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Upstairs, breathing a little better, Sherlock sat up on his heels and rummaged in his coat pocket, pulling out a black origami paper flower.  He looked at it for a moment before he stumbled to his feet and wobbled for a second before pulling himself together as he headed for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely comments and kudos! They really mean a lot. Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, could you guys please stop asking for Demon!John and Angel!Sherlock. I've already told countless people that I will NOT be writing that and while I wrote a story before using Demon!John and Angel!Sherlock, I don't want to do it again. If you wish to read Demon!John, then go find it somewhere else, because it's not coming from this writer. Not fucking happening. I'm tired of people asking me to write it and I'm tired that I have to tell y'all again that I'm not going to do it. So please, stop asking because the answer will always be no.


	30. Searching for More Evidence

A few moments later, Sherlock opened the front door, making John glare at him and make an exasperated sound.

            “The, uh, milk’s gone off and the washing’s starting to smell.  Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago” the demon croaked.  The glare immediately melted off of John’s face when he heard Sherlock’s voice.

            “Sherlock?  You alright?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded, ignoring the question.

            “Soo Lin Yao.  We have to find her” he stated before he looked down and bent to pick up something off the floor.  John frowned and raised an eyebrow.

            “But how, exactly?” he asked.  Sherlock said nothing as he picked up a folded envelope and showed him the back.

 

_ SOO LIN _

_Please ring me,_

_tell me you’re OK?_

_Andy_

He then unfolded the envelope and looked at the front, noticing that printed in the bottom right hand corner was “National Antiquities Museum”.

            “Maybe we could start with this” he croaked as he walked out, closing the door behind him before he headed off down the road, John quickly following behind.

            “You’ve gone all croaky.  Are you alright?  Did someone hurt you?” the angel demanded.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “I’m fine John” he replied croakily.  John gritted his teeth before he stopped and reached out, grabbing Sherlock by the coat sleeve, forcing the demon to face him and he could tell that he was fighting off a cough.

            “Sherlock, you’re not fine.  Who hurt you?” he growled.  Sherlock coughed and looked down at the angel, smiling slightly.

            “I’m fine John, really.  I’m fine” he assured.  John narrowed his eyes at him before he sighed and started walking once more.  Sherlock remained where he was for a moment, watching his angel walk away, a small yet fond smile on his face.  He then shook himself out of the moment and quickly followed after him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the National Antiquities Museum, Sherlock was pacing around a display area as he interviewed Andy.

            “When was the last time you saw her?” he questioned.  Andy gulped.

            “Three days ago, um, here at the museum” he replied.  Sherlock focused briefly on a glass case showing some of the clay teapots, noticing that one of the pots were shiny while the rest were dull.

            “This morning they told me she’d resigned just like that” Andy continued.  Sherlock said nothing as he looked at another case containing some jade figurines before looking at a piece of artwork.

            “Just left her work unfinished” Andy finished.

            “What was the last thing she did on her final afternoon?” Sherlock asked suddenly, turning to face the Bolla.  Andy nodded and motioned for him and John to follow him as he brought them to the basement archive, turning on the lights as he led them in.

            “She does this demonstration for the tourists – a tea ceremony.  So, she would have packed up her things and just put them in here” he explained as he led them to the open stack and started turning a handle at the end to widen the gap.  John went to stand behind him and looked into the stack, but Sherlock had noticed something more interesting in the shadows further along the room, so he decided to walk closer to it.  On a stand stood a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman…with yellow paint sprayed across the front of it.  An almost horizontal straight line went across the eyes and over the body had been sprayed the open upside down eight with the almost horizontal line above it.  Andy and John turned and saw what he had found.

            “Oh…” John whispered in awe.  Sherlock looked over at him and nodded.

            “Indeed” he agreed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Outside the museum, night had fallen as Sherlock and John walked out.

            “We have to get to Soo Lin Yao” Sherlock declared, making John nod in agreement.

            “If she’s still alive” he added.

            “Sherlock!” a voice suddenly shouted.  Sherlock and John turned to see Raz running towards them, John’s eyes narrowing in annoyance.

            “Oh, look who it is” he murmured.

            “Found something you’ll like” Raz panted, looking at Sherlock before he trotted off, the demon immediately following behind.  John narrowed his eyes again before he followed after them, caution in every step.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Shortly afterwards, the three men walked across Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the south side of the river.

            “So, what exactly are you going to show us?” John asked as they continued walking, unaware that the Chinese woman with the dark sunglasses was watching them.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the South Bank Skate Park, Raz led Sherlock and John across the under-croft.  Off in the distance, a young man had just done some kind of clever jump on his pushbike, making the girl next to him grin.

            “Dude, that was rad!” she exclaimed.

            “If you want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it, wouldn’t you say?  People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message” Sherlock murmured when Raz suddenly pointed to a particular area on the heavily-graffitied walls.

            “There.  I spotted it earlier” he stated.  Amongst all the other paint, there were slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols, however some of them were already painted over by other artists’ tags and pictures.

            “They’ve been in here” Sherlock mumbled before looking at Raz.

            “And that’s the exact same paint?” he demanded.  Raz nodded.

            “Yeah” he replied.  Sherlock then looked at John and grinned, revealing his fangs.

            “John, if we’re going to decipher this code, we’re gonna need to look for more evidence” he declared.  John nodded before the two split up, beginning their searches. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock walked along the end of a railway line and discovered an abandoned spray can on the tracks.  Squatting down to pick it up, he put the end of his flashlight into his mouth and ran a thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle before sniffing the nozzle. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

While he was looking at the can, John walked through an underpass, looking closely at the graffiti and posters on the walls as he went.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

While he was looking under the underpass, Sherlock was walking past a wall which had many posters glued to it.  One of the posters caught his eye so he tore off the bottom corner of it, taking it with him as he continued onward.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

As he continued on, John was now out on the railway lines.  As he scanned the area, the light from his flashlight picked out splashes of yellow paint on the sleepers and on the rails, so he raised his light to a brick wall, possibly the wall of a maintenance shed, which was about fifteen feet wide.  When he looked at the wall, his eyes widened and he stepped back, mouth open in shock as he began to realize that the entire wall was completely covered with large yellow Chinese symbols.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! My apologies for the rant in the last end chapter notes but I think it was necessary because it was getting annoying and I'm not going to put up with it. 
> 
> Anyways, please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	31. John Watson, You Brilliant Man

Later, John had finally tracked down Sherlock, who was currently looking at the side of a parked rail freight container.

            “Answer your damn phone!  I’ve been calling you!  I’ve found it!” the angel shouted as he ran towards the demon.  Sherlock’s head snapped up as he looked at him, eyes piercing.

            “Show me” he ordered.  John nodded and turned on his heels, running off into the night, Sherlock at his side, his coat billowing behind him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back at the wall, John led Sherlock towards it only to have his mouth drop open in surprise again, this time for a different reason: the entire wall was now blank.

            “It’s been painted over!” he exclaimed.  Sherlock shone his flashlight around the area as John continued to stare at the wall in disbelief.

            “I don’t understand.  I-it was here…ten minutes ago.  I saw it.  A whole load of graffiti!” he shouted as he stumbled backwards.

            “Somebody doesn’t want me to see it” Sherlock murmured before he turned and grabbed John’s head in his hands.

            “Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing—” John demanded.

            “Shh, John, concentrate.  I need you to concentrate.  Close your eyes” Sherlock ordered.  John blinked in confusion.

            “No, what?  Why?  Why?” he exclaimed as the demon lowered his hands to hold him by the upper arms.

            “What are you doing?” he exclaimed as Sherlock started to spin them slowly around on the spot, staring intensely into he replied his eyes.

            “I need you to maximize your visual memory.  Try to picture what you saw.  Can you picture it?” the demon demanded.  John nodded.

            “Yeah” he replied.

            “Can you remember it?” Sherlock demanded.  John nodded again.

            “Yes, definitely” he answered.

            “Can you remember the pattern?” Sherlock interrogated.

            “Yes!” John exclaimed.

            “How much can you remember it?” the demon continued.

            “Well, don’t worry…” John started.

            “Because the average human memory on visual matter is only sixty-two percent accurate” Sherlock explained, still spinning them.

            “Yeah, well, don’t worry; I remember all of it” John declared.  Sherlock frowned.

            “Really?” he asked, disbelievingly.  John nodded.

            “Yeah, well at least I would—” he started before he pulled away.

            “—if I can get to my pockets!” he exclaimed, rummaging in his jacket pocket.

            “I took a photograph” he explained as he pulled out his phone and pulled up a flash photo he had taken of the wall, which showed all the symbols clearly.  Sherlock took the phone and looked at the photograph before he looked down at John with wide eyes and an even wider grin on his face.

            “John Watson, you brilliant man” he purred before he grabbed John’s face in his hands once more and planted a kiss on his lips.  John’s eyes widened in shock but before he could even say anything, Sherlock pulled away and began walking towards home.  John looked after him with bright red cheeks before he grinned to himself and quickly hurried after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but it's a cute one.
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	32. My Brother

At John’s flat, the photograph that John took had been blown up into small sections and then printed out before being stuck on the mirror, the numerical value of each symbol written against it.  Sherlock stood before the fireplace, looking at the pictures closely, before he noticed a pattern.

            “Always in pairs, John” he called out.  When the angel didn’t respond, Sherlock turned, only to find him and his daughter snuggled together on the chair, John’s chin resting on her head as they both snoozed.  The demon smiled fondly before he quietly padded over to the chair and reached out, shaking John’s shoulder gently.  John let out a little hum before he opened his eyes and blinked.

            “Hmm?” he asked.

            “Numbers come with partners” Sherlock deduced softly.  John nodded and sat up in the chair, making sure not to wake Rosie.

            “God, I need to sleep” he murmured as he gazed around the flat blankly.  Sherlock smiled and petted Rosie’s hair before he turned back to the mirror.

            “Why did he paint it so near the tracks?” he asked softly.  John shook his head.

            “No idea” he replied tiredly.

            “Thousands of people pass by there every day” Sherlock murmured, looking at the photographs.  John just sighed and rested his chin on Rosie’s head once more.

            “Just twenty minutes” he pleaded softly before he headed off to sleep.

            “Of course!” Sherlock whispered, realizing something as he looked a photo of the full wall, smiling triumphantly.

            “Of course!  He wants information.  He’s trying to communicate with his people in the underworld.  Whatever was stolen, he wants it back” he declared as he ran his finger over the symbols.

            “Somewhere here is the code” he whispered as he pulled three photographs off the wall and turned towards the door.

            “We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao” he declared.  John woke from his little nap and sighed as he stood to his feet, carrying a sleepy Rosie.

            “Oh good” he mumbled tiredly as he followed after Sherlock.  The demon waited for him to be at his side before he reached out and took Rosie from his arms.

            “Sherlock, I can carry her—” he protested but Sherlock held up a hand.

            “You’re tired and carrying a sleepy baby will not help your situation.  I’m more awake then you are.  I promise once we’re done, we’ll all sleep” he promised.  John nodded and smiled slightly.

            “Thank you” he replied softly.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Down at the National Antiquities Museum, John and Sherlock stood before Andy once more as they stood in the display room that they had met in earlier.

            “Two men who travelled back from China were murdered and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals” Sherlock stated, bouncing Rosie in his arms to keep her asleep.

            “Soo Lin Yao’s in danger.  Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others.  He means to kill her as well” John added, more awake now.  Andy shook his head.

            “Look, I’ve tried everywhere, friends, colleagues.  I-I don’t know where she’s gone.  I mean, she could be a thousand miles away” he stammered.  Sherlock turned his head away in exasperation when his gaze suddenly focused on the nearby glass case displaying the teapots.

            “What are you looking at?” John asked, following Sherlock’s eyes.

            “Tell me more about those teapots” Sherlock ordered as he walked towards the case, pointing at it.

            “Th-the pots were here obsession.  Um, they need urgent work.  I-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble.  Apparently, you have to just keep making tea in them” Andy explained.  Sherlock hummed as he bent down to look more closely at the shelf.

            “Yesterday, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two” he mused. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Later, elsewhere in the museum, fingers reached through the gaps in a large grating at the bottom of a wall and carefully pushed the grating outwards.  Moments later, a shadow moved across the dimly lit display room and a hand reached into the glass case to take out one of the not-shiny teapots before moving away again.  Not long afterwards, Soo Lin sat in the almost-dark restoration room, pouring tea into the teapot on the desk in front of her.  She picked up the lid and carefully stroked it around the rim as, behind her, a curly-headed silhouette appeared on the other side of the window in the door.  Unaware of that fact, she picked up the teapot and poured some of the liquid into a pair of cups before pouring more of the tea into the tray on which the cups were standing.  She then picked up the teapot and swirled it around to cover the outside with the drips.

            “Fancy a biscuit with that?” Sherlock called out, stepping out of the shadows, Rosie in his arms.  Before he finished the sentence, Soo Lin gasped in fright and turned towards him, the teapot dropping from her terrified fingers.  Sherlock reacted instantly, bending his knees to reach down and catch the teapot with one hand before it hit the floor.

            “Centuries old.  Don’t wanna break that.  Also, don’t want to wake my daughter” he murmured, motioning to Rosie who was clutching his scarf as she slept.  He then slowly straightened up and handed the teapot back to Soo Lin.  As she took it, he reached out and switch on the desk, turning on the lights underneath the surface before smiling slightly at her.

            “Hello” he greeted as John stepped out of the shadows as well, startling Soo Lin even more.

            “Terribly sorry” he apologized as he walked over to her and sat down on one of the stools.  Soo Lin took a deep breath and shook her head as she sat down across from him while Sherlock stood at the end of the table, slightly bouncing to keep Rosie asleep.

            “You saw the cipher.  Then you know he is coming for me” Soo Lin stated.

            “You’ve been clever to avoid him so far” John noted.  Soo Lin looked over at him and nodded.

            “I had to finish…to finish this work.  It’s only a matter of time.  I know he will find me” she whimpered.

            “Who is he?  Have you met him before?” Sherlock demanded.  The phoenix nodded.

            “When I was a girl, living back in China.  I recognize his...“signature”” she replied.

            “The cipher” John elaborated.

            “Only _he_ would do this.  Zhi Zhu” Soo Lin spat.  John frowned and looked over at Sherlock.

            “Zhi Zhu?” he repeated.

            “The Spider” Sherlock explained as Soo Lin put her right foot up on her opposite knee, unlacing her shoe and taking it off.  On the underside of her heel was a black tattoo of a lotus flower inside a circle.

            “You know this mark?” she asked.  Sherlock and John nodded.

            “Yes” the demon replied.

            “It’s the mark of a Tong.  Ancient crime syndicate based in China” the angel added.  Soo Lin sighed.

            “Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them” she explained.

            “Hauls?” Sherlock asked, gently nosing Rosie to make sure that she stayed asleep.  Soo Lin looked up at the both of them and John’s eyes widened in understanding.

            “You were a smuggler” he whispered.  Soo Lin nodded as she put her shoe back on.

            “I was fifteen.  My parents were dead.  I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses” she explained.

            “Who are they?” Sherlock demanded.

            “They are called the Black Lotus.  By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong.  But I managed to leave that life behind me.  I came to England” Soo Lin continued with a little smile.

            “They gave me a job here.  Everything was good; a new life” she declared wistfully.

            “Then he came looking for you” John stated sadly.  Soo Lin nodded.

            “Yes” she replied before she swallowed, clearly very upset.

            “I had hoped after five years, maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave.  A small community like ours – they are never very far away” she whimpered as a tear fell from her eye.

            “He came to my flat.  He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen” she whispered.

            “And you’ve no idea what it was?” Sherlock asked.

            “I refused to help” Soo Lin growled.  John then leaned forward.

            “So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?” he asked.  Soo Lin nodded and looked up at the angel, eyes blazing gold.

            “Oh yes” she replied before she looked up at Sherlock.

            “He’s my brother” she admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	33. I've Got You

Meanwhile, somewhere in London, the hands of a woman wearing black nail varnish opened a box and folded back the tissue paper covering the contents, which were sheets of black paper.  The hands then took the top sheet and laid it on the table.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “Two orphans.  We had no choice.  We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets like beggars” Soo Lin explained.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The hands then folded the sheet of paper a few times, pressing down to set the folds before opening the sheet out flat again.  They then folded one of the corners up befor turning the paper around to start folding up the opposite corner.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general” Soo Lin continued.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The mysterious hands continued to fold the paper.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “I turned my brother away.  He said I had betrayed him.  Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting” Soo Lin stated, sighing deeply.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The mysterious hands nearly completed their work and the paper was now folded into an intricate shape.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back at the museum, Sherlock laid the photographs down on the table.

            “Can you decipher these?” he asked quietly.  Soo Lin leaned forward and pointed to the mark besides Sir William’s portrait.

            “These are numbers” she stated.  John and Sherlock rolled their eyes.

            “Yes, we know” Sherlock.

            “Here: the line across the man’s eyes – it’s the Chinese number one” Soo Lin continued, pointing to another photograph.

            “And this one is fifteen.  But what’s the code?” Sherlock demanded, pointing to the first photo.

            “All the smugglers know it.  It’s based upon a book…” Soo Lin started to explain when almost all of the lights suddenly went out.  Soo Lin looked up in dread and Sherlock straightened up, looking around sharply as he clutched Rosie tightly to his chest.

            “He’s here.  Zhi Zhu.  He has found me” Soo Lin whispered as terror filled her face.  Sherlock suddenly took off, leaving John and Soo Lin in the dark.

            “Sherlock!  Sherlock, wait!” John shouted as Sherlock charged out of the room, still clutching Rosie tightly to his chest.  The angel then turned to Soo Lin and grabbed her hand.

            “Come here” he ordered as he pulled her across the room towards another room or possibly a cupboard.

            “Get in.  Get in!” he commanded. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, Sherlock raced across a large open foyer with a staircase at each end and a balcony surrounding the floor above.  He stopped in the middle of the foyer and looked around, still clutching Rosie.  From his right, a figure ran across the balcony and fired a pistol at him.  Sherlock eyes widened and he quickly turned and ran in the opposite direction, flinging himself to the floor and sliding along it to take shelter behind a statue on a low plinth, shielding Rosie with his body.  The figure fired a couple more times as Sherlock scrambled behind the plinth, making sure that Rosie was not hurt by any of the bullets.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the restoration room, John looked up at the sound of gunfire, then turned to Soo Lin.

            “I have to go and help.  Bolt the door after me” he ordered to Soo Lin before he ran out of the room.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

John made his way cautiously out into the foyer before ducking and running for cover as more gunshots rang out.  The figure then ran back across the balcony and disappeared, allowing Sherlock to come out from behind the plinth before he hared across the foyer and up the stairs, all while still carrying Rosie, who was thankfully, still asleep.  Meanwhile, John peered out from behind a column at the other end of the foyer as Sherlock reached the top of the stairs and tore around the corner.  He then pelted into another display room, forcing the gun to run out of cover and fire at him again.  Sherlock quickly ducked behind a display cabinet displaying some ancient skulls as the figure fired again, turning his back so that he was shielding Rosie from the bullets.

            “Careful!” he shouted.  The gunman fired again, making Sherlock curl tighter around Rosie.

            “Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old!  Have a bit of respect!” he roared before he paused for a couple of seconds, breathing heavily, waiting for more gunshots, but thankfully, there were none.

            “Thank you!” he called out but there was no sound from the gunman.  After a moment, Sherlock frowned before carefully peering through the glass of the case.  Just then, Rosie let out a little whimper, grabbing the demon’s attention, so he quickly began to rock her, humming a soft tune.

            “Shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s alright sweetheart.  Daddy’s here, Daddy’s here” he soothed as he rocked her.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the restoration room, Soo Lin looked up anxiously before she closed her eyes in despair.  Meanwhile upstairs, Sherlock looked up from comforting Rosie and looked around, almost as if he could sense that something terrible was going to happen.  John, from where he was hiding, looked up as well.

           “Not good” he murmured under his breath.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in the restoration room, Soo Lin took a shaky breath before she slowly began to crawl out of her hiding place.  On the desk, paperwork fluttered in a slight breeze as Soo Lin crawled to the edge and peered over the top before slowly standing to her feet.  Behind her, a Chinese man who was slightly older than her walked silently towards her before stopping behind her, staring at her intently.  As if sensing him, she slowly turned around then gazed at him with affection when she recognized him.

            “亮” she greeted softly before hesitating.

           “大哥” she whispered, reaching out and cupping his face in her hands.

           “请你…” she pleaded. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

As John continued to search for Sherlock and Rosie, a single gunshot rang out in the distance, making him turn towards the sound, his face filling with appalled horror when he realized where the shot came from.

           “My god” he whispered in horror as he raced back to the stairs before running down them, across the foyer, and back to the restoration room.  As he entered the room, he slowed and looked around cautiously for any sign of the gunman.  When he saw no sign of danger, he carefully made his way across the room before stopping and groaning in despair and guilt at the sight that greeted him: Soo Lin dead on the table, her outstretched arm revealing a black origami lotus flower in her upturned hand.  John stared at the phoenix’s dead body as tears pricked at his eyes and within a few seconds, he was sinking to his knees, sobbing hot and angry tears.  While he knelt before Soo Lin’s dead body, sobbing, he didn’t hear Sherlock silently step out of the shadows, cradling Rosie in his arms.  When the demon saw John in the middle of the room, having a breakdown, he quietly stepped back into the shadows and out of the room.  Once he was sure that John could not see or hear him, he took a deep breath.

           “Mycroft” he whispered into the air.

           “Brother mine?” Mycroft replied softly, appearing beside the younger demon.  Sherlock looked over at him before handing Rosie over, his mouth a thin line.  Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he took the child and cradled her to his chest.

           “What’s the matter?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed.

           “John’s having a breakdown and I don’t want Rosie to see or hear her father crying” he explained.  Mycroft nodded in understanding before he disappeared into a cloud of ash and smoke.  Once he was gone, Sherlock stepped back into the room and out of the shadows.

           “John” he called out softly.  The angel looked up and over his shoulder at him and let out a sob before he stood up and walked over, leaning his head into Sherlock’s chest.  Sherlock sighed softly as he wrapped his arms around the angel and held him close, lowering his cheek to rest on top of John’s head.

           “Shh…shh John, shh…” he soothed.  John just shook his head as he buried his face in the demon’s chest and continued to sob.  Sherlock said nothing as he just continued to hold the angel, rubbing his back comfortingly as he cried.

           “Shh…it’s alright John.  I’m here.  I’ve got you” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright people, listen up. I have a feeling I'm going to get comments about how John is just a weak angel and how Sherlock is constantly needing to comfort him and protect him but guess fucking what? How would you like it if you were desperately trying to save someone, only to have them die on your watch? You'd cry too, right? You'd cry tears of frustration too, wouldn't you? So I don't want to fucking here it. I've said this before and I'll say it again: if you don't like this story, you don't like how it's written, you don't like how the characters are, whatever, I don't really give a fuck. My story, my rules. If you want to write your own damn story, go ahead. I'm not gonna stop you. I just don't want comments about how I should have written this chapter or any of the chapters differently. I just don't want to hear it. Got it? Good.
> 
> Rant aside, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	34. St. Bart's Hospital

The next day, after a night of well-deserved rest, at the New Scotland Yard, John and Sherlock were standing a short distance away from Dimmock, who had his back to them as he was rummaging through paperwork on a desk as if trying to ignore them.

            “How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac’s out there?” John spat, fire prickling at his fingertips, as Dimmock turned and walked in between the demon and the angel, heading for another desk.  John snarled as he turned to follow the hellhound.

            “A young girl was gunned down tonight.  That’s three victims in three days.  You’re supposed to be finding him!” he shouted as fire suddenly erupted around him.  Sherlock quickly stepped forward and placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder.

            “Easy John…shh” he soothed.  John let out a deep huff before he snuffed out the flames and took a step back so that Sherlock could deal with Dimmock.

            “Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers – a gang called the Black Lotus, operating here in London, right under your nose” he growled, heterochromic eyes flicking to black.  Dimmock gulped before he turned to face Sherlock.

            “Can you prove that?” he demanded.  Sherlock straightened up thoughtfully.

            “Indeed, I can” he replied.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital, in the canteen, a woman of average height with long brown hair, fair skin, and brown eyes by the name of Molly Hooper, a unicorn, was looking at the choices in the self-service display.

            “What are you thinking: pork or pasta?” Sherlock asked as he stepped next to her.

            “Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed as she turned in surprise towards him.

            “This place is never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it?” he asked as John stepped next to him.  He then motioned to John, who smiled and waved hello.

            “My partner, John Watson” he introduced.  Molly smiled and waved hello back before she looked at Sherlock.

            “I’d stick with the pasta.  Don’t wanna be doing roast pork – not if you’re slicing up cadavers” the demon stated.  Molly smiled.

            “What are you having?” she asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Don’t eat when I’m working.  Digesting slows me down” he explained.  Molly raised an eyebrow.

            “So, you’re working here tonight?” she asked.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Need to examine some bodies” he replied.  Molly frowned.

            “Some?” she repeated.  John nodded this time.

            “Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis” he answered.  Molly hummed as she looked at the clipboard in her hand.

            “They’re on my list” she replied.

            “Could you wheel them out again for me?” Sherlock asked, giving her puppy-dog eyes.  Molly looked at him apologetically.

            “Well…the paperwork’s already gone through” she replied, making John walk over to her and place a hand on her arm.

            “Please Ms…” he started, waiting for her to give him her last name.

            “Hooper” Molly replied.  John nodded.

            “Ms. Hooper, please” he softly begged, motioning for her to come closer, and when she leaned her head closer to his mouth, he cupped his hand to her ear.

            “We’re trying to prove to that bastard over there that there is an actual psychopath out there killing people and we can’t do it without your help” he whispered.  Molly’s eyes widened and she glanced over at Dimmock.

            “Him?” she whispered, pointing to the man.  John nodded and Molly’s eyes hardened.

            “Alright, I’ll get you your bodies” she replied before she turned on her heels and walked out.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow before he walked over to John and placed his hands on the man’s shoulder.

            “I don’t know how you do it, Watson” he murmured with a smile on his face.  John just chuckled.

            “It’s all about the charm, Holmes.  It’s all about the charm” he replied.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the morgue, two body bags were lying on adjacent tables and Molly, wearing latex gloves, unzipped the top of one of the bags and pulled the sides apart to reveal the face of Brian Lukis.  Sherlock and John then led Dimmock into the room.

            “We’re just interested in the feet” Sherlock stated.  Molly looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a frown.

            “The feet?” she repeated.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Yes.  D’you mind if we have a look at them?” he asked.  Molly sighed and shook her head as Sherlock led Dimmock to the other side of the body bag while Molly followed after them and unzipped the bag at the end, pulling the sides back to reveal the bottom of Lukis’ feet.  On the bottom of the right heel, a tattoo identical to the one Soo Lin had showed Sherlock and John could be seen.  Sherlock straightened up, a smug expression on both his and John’s face, and walked over to the other table.

            “Now Van Coon” he ordered.  John and Dimmock followed him to the second table as Molly unzipped the other body bag to show that Van Coon had an identical tattoo on his heel, just like Soo Lin and Lukis.  Dimmock sighed silently.

            “Oh!” John exclaimed in fake surprise.

            “So…” Dimmock started awkwardly.

            “So, either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlor or I’m telling the truth” Sherlock declared with a smirk.

            “What do you want?” Dimmock asked, sighing in resignation.

            “I want every book from Lukis and Van Coon’s apartment” Sherlock ordered.  Dimmock looked at him in confusion.

            “Their books?” he repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we get to meet a new character: Ms. Molly Hooper! Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	35. Bad Doggy!

Back at John’s flat, John first walked into Rosie’s room and plucked her from her crib, quickly changing her diaper and clothes before bringing her out into the living room, where he sat in his chair while Sherlock remained standing.

            “Not just a criminal organization; it’s a cult.  Her brother was corrupted by one of its leaders” Sherlock deduced.

            “Soo Lin said the name” John mused as he played with Rosie, dancing her little otter in front of her, making her giggle in delight.

            “Yes, Shan; General Shan” Sherlock agreed.

            “We’re still no closer to finding them” John reminded, glancing up at the demon.  Sherlock looked over at him and shook his head.

            “Wrong.  We’ve got almost all we need to know.  She gave us most of the missing pieces” he explained, waiting for John to agree, but when he didn’t, he just sighed.

            “Why did he need to visit his sister?  Why did he need her expertise?” he asked.  John shrugged.

            “I don’t know…she worked at the museum?” he replied.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Exactly” he agreed.  John’s eyes widened as he finally began to catch up.

            “An expert in antiquities.  Of course” he murmured.

            “Valuable antiquities, John.  Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market.  China’s home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao’s revolution” Sherlock continued.

            “And the Black Lotus is selling them” John theorized.  Sherlock hummed as he titled his head, suddenly hit with an idea.  He then quickly walked over to the dining room table and sat down, summoning a laptop before he started surfing Crispians’ website for recent auctions, focusing on the auctions of Chinese and other Asian works of art.  As he was searching, John got up out of his chair and walked over to him, leaning over his shoulder as Rosie clutched at his jumper.

            “Check for the dates” Sherlock murmured to himself as he skimmed the list before pointing to a particular auction lot – two Chinese Ming vases.

            “Here, John” he declared.  John looked at the screen, nodding.

            “Mmm” he answered.

            “Arrived from China four days ago” Sherlock stated, running his finger down the details to look at the “Sale Information” at the bottom, which included the statement “Source – Anonymous.”  He smirked.

            “Anonymous.  Vendor doesn’t give his name.  Two undiscovered treasures from the East” he mused.

            “One in Lukis’ suitcase and the other in Van Coon’s” John concluded.  Sherlock nodded as he moved to the Quest search site and typed into the search bar.

            “Chinese…antiquities sold at auction” he mumbled and soon a search list popped up.

            “Look, here’s another one!” he exclaimed.  John noticed and nodded.

            “Mmm” he agreed.

            “Arrived in China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold four hundred thousand” Sherlock stated.  John hummed and walked over to the table on the side of his chair and picked up Lukis’ diary.

            “Ah, look: a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million” he called out.

            “All of them from an anonymous source.  They’re stealing them back in China and one by one they’re feeding them into Britain” Sherlock deduced from the computer.  John hummed as he walked over to his chair and placed Rosie down before consulting Lukis’ dairy and Van Coon’s calendar once more.

            “And every since auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China” he called out.

            “So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China?  What if one of them stole something?” Sherlock asked.

            “That’s why Zhi Zhu’s come” John concluded.  Just then, the doorbell rang, making Sherlock and John look at each other in surprise.  John then walked over to the door and opened it, revealing a young man carrying a crate of books.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Shortly afterwards, two uniformed police officers carried in yet another plastic crate to add to the many that had already been dumped in the living room.

            “So, the numbers are references” Sherlock deduced as he stood next to John’s chair, petting Rosie’s hair as she played with her otter.

            “To books” John added.  Sherlock nodded.

            “To specific pages and specific words on those pages” he elaborated.  John nodded slowly in understanding.

            “Right, so…fifteen and one, that means…” he started.

            “Turn to page fifteen and it’s the first word you read” Sherlock finished, making John look over at him.

            “Okay, so what’s the message?” he asked.  Sherlock shrugged.

            “Depends on the book.  That’s the cunning of the book code.  Has to be one that they both owned” he explained.  John sighed as he looked around despairingly at the many, many crates in the room, each either labeled “Van Coon” or “Lukis”.

            “Okay, right.  Well, this shouldn’t take too long, should it?” he murmured to himself as he walked over to the nearest crate and flipped open the lid, sighing tiredly when he saw the number of books inside.  Sherlock then stepped away from Rosie and opened another crate and started taking out books, looking at the cover of each one as John took a handful from his crate and carried them over to the dining table, sitting down.  While they were working, Dimmock walked in and held up an evidence bag to Sherlock.

            “We found these at the museum” he declared before showing the bag to John.  It contained the photographs of the cipher which Sherlock had been showing to Soo Lin.

            “Is this your writing?” he asked.  John took the bag and bit his bottom lip.

            “Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us” he explained before motioning for the hellhound to leave, making Dimmock frown slightly.  He then stepped away from John and looked over at Sherlock, who was still unloading his crate.

            “Anything else I can do?  To assist you, I mean?” he asked.

            “Some silence right now would be marvelous” the demon replied without looking up.  Dimmock stared at him before looking across to John, who shook his head apologetically.  Biting his lower lip, Dimmock turned to leave when he noticed Rosie staring at him.

            “What, brat?” he spat.  John and Sherlock both paused in their work and slowly turned to look at him.

            “What did you say?” Sherlock asked slowly, though the question came out more like a growl.  Dimmock looked over at the demon and angel, sneering.

            “Why is this brat staring at me?” he demanded, pointing to Rosie, who was still clutching at her otter.  John slowly stood to his feet and started to walk over to Dimmock, hands shrouded in fire.

            “How dare you—” he started when Sherlock quickly stepped around the crate and threw a hand out, pressing it gently to the angel’s chest.

            “He’s not worth it, John.  Ignore the fool” he softly ordered.  John looked up at him and nodded to him before he looked back at Dimmock and glared.  The hellhound gulped and took a step back as John walked back to his seat and began looking once more.  Sherlock looked over at the angel before looking back at Dimmock, heterochromic eyes hard.

            “You best leave, Sergeant” he growled.  Dimmock nodded and made to leave when Rosie pointed at him.

            “Bad doggy!” she declared.  Dimmock’s eyes widened and his face turned bright red as he quickly walked out of the room, leaving Sherlock and John in shock at their daughter’s declaration.  They then looked at one another before they bursted out laughing.  Rosie was something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosie's just freaking adorable, isn't she? Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	36. Word Search

After Dimmock left the flat, Sherlock removed a book from a crate and realized that he had already got one like it from another crate.  He then put them side by side; hard back copies of Iain Banks’ “Transition”.  Opening one of them to page fifteen, he looked at the first word on the page.

            “Cigarette” he read aloud in exasperated disappointment.  Slamming the book closed, he put both versions on top of the pile on the desk.

            “Ah” John called out.  Sherlock then went back to rummaging through crates while John put his pile on the floor and crossed the room to get more books from a crate.  As time went on, Sherlock found two more identical books, “Freakonomics”, from the two men’s collections.  He quickly flicked to page fifteen, which was the beginning of a chapter titled “What Do Schoolteachers and Sumo Wrestlers Have in Common?”  Moving down to the first word in the chapter, he read it before looking up in frustration.

            “Imagine” he spat as he dumped the two books onto John’s pile.  More time went by and soon it was day time.  Sherlock had removed his jacket, John had taken off his cardigan, and Rosie was now asleep in John’s chair, but they were all still in the same positions from the night before.  Time continued on and now the daylight was even brighter outside.  Books were now scattered everywhere on the table and on the floor and some of the crates had been shifted about.  As Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair before looking at the crates and sighing, an alarm went off on John’s watch.  The angel jolted before looking at his watch then out of the window, as if to confirm that it really was morning.  He then tiredly sighed and buried his head in his hands.

            “Sherlock…Sherlock we need to sleep.  We’ve been at this for almost twenty-four hours.  Rosie’s even asleep before us” he whispered.  Sherlock looked up at his partner and nodded.

            “Alright, yes, let’s sleep” he agreed as he stepped out from behind his tower of crates and walked over to John’s chair, carefully picking Rosie up from where she had curled herself into a ball.  He then rested her against his chest and walked into the master bedroom, placing her down in the middle of the bed.

            “We need to stop staying up so late” John murmured as he sleepily walked into the room, yawning before he crawled into the left side of the bed, spooning Rosie and placing a gentle hand on her back.  Sherlock smiled fondly as he crawled into the other side of the bed, creating the other protective barrier around Rosie as he reached out and placed a hand on her back as well, lacing his fingers with John’s so that Rosie felt loved by both of her parents as they slept.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

That afternoon, after a much needed nap, Sherlock was back working at the cates, but this time with a different tactic.

            “A book that everybody would own” he murmured to himself as he turned to his bookcase and pulled down the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, the Holy Bible and a third book.  Putting them on top of the nearest crate, he opened the dictionary to the correct page.

            “Fifteen, entry one” he murmured.  The word was “add”.  He then moved onto the last book he took down, which was titled “Syphilis and local contagious disorders” by Berkeley Hill.  The first word on page 15 was “nostrils”.  Putting that book aside, he picked up the Bible and flicked to page 15, which was partway through the Book of Genesis.  The first word was “I”.  As he closed the book, the master bedroom door slammed shut as John walked out, looking well rested.

            “I need to get some air.  We’re going out tonight” Sherlock declared as he propped his elbows on one of the crates and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up.  John looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “Oh, where?” he asked.  Sherlock walked over to him and handed him a piece of paper from his trouser pocket.

            “Yellow Dragon Circus” John read aloud.  Sherlock nodded.

            “In London for one night only” he added.  John smiled.

            “Sounds lovely.  Do you think Rosie would enjoy it?” he asked.  Sherlock thought for a moment.

            “It would be best if we didn’t bring her…she might not like it” he replied.  John nodded.

            “Should I call Mycroft?” he asked.

            “Say no more, John, we’ll watch Rosie” Mycroft answered as he and Lestrade stepped through a portal made of swirling smoke and ash.  John smiled gratefully at the elder demon and kitsune.

            “I’m sorry that we keep doing this to you, it’s just that—” he started when Lestrade held up a hand.

            “It’s quite alright, John.  We like watching Rosie.  And it’s nice to get a break from our jobs once in a while” he assured.  Mycroft nodded before he turned towards Sherlock.

            “Be careful.  I don’t trust this Tong” he growled.  Sherlock nodded.

            “I will” he promised.  Mycroft smiled, pleased with that answer, and motioned towards the door.

            “Get going” he ordered.  John and Sherlock nodded as they quickly put on their jacket and coat then walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	37. Damn it, Sherlock

After leaving John’s flat, Sherlock transported them to a nearby building.

            “You think this is a coincidence?” John asked as they neared the box office.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Oh, definitely” he replied as they walked over to the box office.

            “Hi.  I have two tickets reserved for tonight” he stated.

            “And what’s the name?” the manager asked. 

            “Holmes” John replied.  The manager nodded, handed them the tickets, then waved them away.

            “Enjoy the show” they called out as Sherlock and John walked away.  The men started to walk up the stairs to the building before they stopped and let others pass.

            “So, why did you bring us to the circus?” John asked, glancing up at the demon.

            “Yellow Dragon Circus, in London, for one day.  It fits.  The Tong sent an assassin to England…” Sherlock started.

            “…dressed up like a tightrope walker” John finished.  Sherlock nodded.

            “We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope.  Where else would you find that level of dexterity?  Exit visas are scarce in China.  They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country.  Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around the place…” he murmured, trailing off.  John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

            “Alright, go” he grumbled, waving his hand in a dismissive manner.  Sherlock smiled and leaned down, kissing John on the forehead.

            “You’re the best” he murmured before he dashed off.  John blushed before he continued up the stairs.

            “I know” he replied under his breath.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the performance area, there was a stage on one side of the large hall and the curtains were closed.  However, it seemed that the stage was not going to be used: a circle of candles had been laid out in the middle of the floor, about thirty feet in diameter.  The room was dimly lit, and the patrons were gathering around the circle, yet there were no seats.  Apparently, the number of tickets had been limited and there was enough room for everyone to stand around the circle with a clear view.  John stood among the other patrons, looking at the performance area with a frown on his face.

            “You said circus.  This is not a circus.  Look at the size of this crowd.  Sherlock, this is…art” he murmured softly to himself so that no one could hear him and think he was crazy.

            “This is not their day job” a voice whispered beside him.  He jumped and looked to his right to see Sherlock there, his hands in his coat pockets.

            “You scared me” he hissed.  Sherlock smirked, not looking at him.

            “My apologizes” he replied.  John narrowed his eyes before he looked back at the performance area.

            “No, sorry, I forgot.  They’re not a circus; they’re a gang of international smugglers” he mumbled as the performance began, starting with someone tapping out a rhythm on a tiny hand drum.  Sherlock glanced down at John, who looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, and quirked an eyebrow in return before looking back at the performance area.  An ornately costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face – traditionally known as the Opera Singer – walked into the center of the circle and looked imperiously out at the audience before raising a hand in the air.  The drummer finished their riff as the Opera Singer walked across the circle to a large object covered with a cloth, which she pulled back to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand.  She then picked up a long, thick wooden arrow with white feather at one end and a vicious metal point at the other and showed it to the audience before fitting it into place in the crossbow.  Straightening up, she pulled a single, small white feather from her headdress and again showed it to the audience before dropping it into a small metal cup at the end of the crossbow.  Instantly, the arrow was released and whizzed across the room, Sherlock’s head whipping around to follow its flight while John was still gasping at the sound of the arrow’s release.  By the time he looked around a moment later, the arrow was embedded in a large painted board on the other side of the circle.  He smiled and let out a little chuckle, shaking his head as instrumental music began.  The audience applauded as a new character entered the circle, wearing chainmail and an ornate head mask.  He then held out his arms to the side as two men came over and started to attach heavy chains and straps to him, strapping his now-folded arms in front of him before backing him up against the board, starting to chain him to it.

            “Classic Chinese escapology act” Sherlock whispered.  John looked up at him.

            “Hmm?” he asked.

            “The crossbow’s on a delicate string.  The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires” Sherlock explained as the Opera Singer loaded another arrow into the crossbow.  The men attached more padlocks and chains, one of them pulling a chain tightly, yanking the warrior’s head back against the board, making him cry out.  The men then looped the chains through solid rings attached to the board and secured the warrior, who cried out again.  Once they had finished, they stepped away as the music began to build in intensity and suddenly cymbals crashed, making John jump and Sherlock reach out, gently grasping the man’s upper arm to steady him.

            “Alright?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “Yeah…I can see why you said Rosie wouldn’t like this” he replied softly.  The two men then watched as the Opera Singer picked up a small knife and displayed it to the audience.

            “She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl” Sherlock murmured as the Opera Singer did just what he had predicted – she reached up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable and stabbed the knife in the bottom of the sack.  Sand began to pour out and the warrior repeatedly cried out with effort as he tugged at his chains.  As the sand continued to pour out of the bag, the weight on the other end of the pulley lowered towards the bowl at the back of the crossbow when the warrior suddenly got one hand free.  John was watching the weight lower while Sherlock looked at it as it crossed paths with the sandbag on its way up.  They then turned to look at the warrior was he got his other hand free and started tugging on the chains around his neck.  The weight was now only a few feet above the bowl and John was tense with worry.  The warrior cried out again as he pulled on his chains and the weight got even closer.  As it almost reached the lip of the bowl, the warrior loosened the chains around his neck and struggled to free himself just as the weight touched the bowl, sending the arrow streaking across the room.  With a split second to spare, the warrior pulled free of the chains and ducked down as the arrow thudded into the board.  The warrior then cried out triumphantly as the audience began to applaud.

            “Oh, thank God” John exclaimed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the warrior stood up and received the applause.  Still clapping, John looked over to his left, but Sherlock had vanished.  He looked around the hall but couldn’t see the demon anywhere.

            “Damn it, Sherlock…” he grumbled under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. The past few days have been hella stressful. But I hope you guys like this update! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	38. Translation Begins

After Sherlock left John, he made his way onto the stage, which was being used as the performers’ dressing room.  On the stage, there was a dressing table with mirrors, some free-standing clothes rails, and many other items all around.  The demon looked at everything and noticed that it was almost as if there was another warrior standing nearby, except that the chainmail and mask was hanging on a stand.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the performance area, the Opera Singer raised a hand to halt the audience’s applause. 

            “Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure: the deadly Chinese bird-spider” she declared.  As she walked away, a masked acrobat descended from the ceiling, rolling through the air as the broad red band wrapped around his waist unraveled.  The audience applauded as he stopped a couple of feet above the ground, holding his body parallel to the floor.

            “Oh my” John whispered to himself as he watched.  Descending to the floor, the acrobat removed the band from around his waist and split it, revealing that it was made up of two strips of material which he wrapped around his arms before running around the circle and taking his weight on the bands, lifting into the air and flying around in a circle several feet above the ground, the red bands soaring out behind him.  John, and presumably the rest of the audience, stared up at him with open mouths.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, on the stage, Sherlock walked over the curtains and parted them slightly to look out at the performance, watching in interest as the acrobat floated around.

            “Well, well” he murmured when suddenly a door on stage right opened.  The demon’s eyes widened and he quickly ran to take cover, pushing through the middle of the clothes on the clothing rail before spreading the items out again as the Opera Singer came onto the stage.  He watched as the woman walked over to the dressing table and picked up a mobile phone, checking it, and before he knew what was happening, he accidentally bumped an empty hanger, making it fall to the floor and make the Opera Singer look around sharply at the sound.

            _‘Shit’_ he thought to himself as he ducked down, praying that the Opera Singer didn’t see him as she walked closer to his hiding spot.  Thankfully, the woman continued walking, leaving the stage.  Once she left, Sherlock looked down and noticed a bag on the floor near his feet.  Flipping it open, he found several spray cans inside, so he picked one up and noticed that it was labelled “Michigan”; a yellow band across the bottom of the can denoting the color of paint.

            “Found you” he sang softly to himself.  Standing up, he pushed through the clothes on the rail and walked over to the mirrors on the dressing table, shaking the can as he went.  When he arrived at the table, he bent down and sprayed a single, almost-horizontal yellow line across one of the mirrors, and as he was looking at it, the warrior’s costume behind him started to move.  Frowning, he turned around and realized that the costume was no longer on the stand and now had a human inside of it, who charged immediately, lashing out at him with a large knife.  He ducked backwards to avoid the blows, but the warrior continued to press forward.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Outside, in the performance area, John was still watching the acrobat while on the other side of the circle, the closed curtains on the stage began to billow in one particular place.  He frowned at the curtains for a moment before being distracted by the acrobat.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, on the stage, Sherlock used the can he was holding as a sort of weapon, using it to block a blow from the warrior, ducking below the next swing of the man’s knife before clouting the can across the man’s elbow.  In response, the warrior kicked him hard in the stomach.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Outside, in the performance area, the acrobat did a dramatic roll down the bands, making the audience applaud while the billowing curtains went unnoticed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back on the stage, the warrior grabbed Sherlock by the throat, accidentally dropping his knife in the process.  Sherlock lashed the man’s hand away from his neck before spraying the can directly into his masked face and bundling into him, shoving him away firmly.  The warrior fell onto his back but used his momentum to raise his legs and roll forward, flipping to his feet once more.  He then took a flying leap at Sherlock, spinning as he went, hitting him hard in the chest with his feet.  Sherlock let out a cry as he was propelled backwards through the curtains, straight over the edge of the stage and onto the floor a few feet below.  Crashing onto his back, he struggled to get up again, but was too winded and couldn’t move much as the warrior came flying out of the curtains and onto the floor in front of him.  John was on the move straightaway, running towards the warrior as he raised a knife and prepared to plunge it downwards.  Before he could even go through with the act, John barreled straight into him, pushing him back against the edge of the stage, but the warrior lashed out with one foot, sending John stumbling across the room.  Nearby, as the audience fled, the acrobat took off his mask, took one look at the fight and decided that he wanted no part of it, running off.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

While everyone was running away, John pushed himself off the ground and ran towards the warrior, who now had a wide-bladed sword in his hands, ready to deliver the killing blow.  Before he could deliver the blow, however, John ran towards him, fists aflame, and punched him in the face, grinning wickedly as the warrior cried out in pain as he clutched at his face.  While he was screaming, Sherlock created a spear of smoke and ash and tossed it to John, who caught it with ease before swinging it sideways, smashing it across the warrior’s ribs.  The warrior howled in more pain as John struck again, this time spearing the man through the heart.  Once the warrior fell to the ground, bleeding out, Sherlock got up and leaned forward, pulling off his shoe to reveal a Tong tattoo on his heel.  John panted, breathless, before he ran over to Sherlock and held out a hand.

            “Come on!” he exclaimed.  Sherlock nodded and grabbed his hand as he was pulled to his feet and once they were both standing, he began to drag John away.

            “Come on!  Let’s go!” he shouted.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the New Scotland Yard, Dimmock stormed into the office, followed by an out of breath Sherlock and John.

            “I sent a couple of cars.  The old hall is totally deserted” he growled, not in a good mood.

            “Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong” Sherlock snapped as Dimmock reached his desk before turning to face the others.

            “Lukis and Van Coon were part of a smuggling operation.  Now one of the stole something when they were in China; something valuable” John added.

            “These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back” Sherlock continued.

            “Get what back?” Dimmock demanded.  Sherlock bit his bottom lip and looked away angrily.

            “We don’t know” John murmured hesitantly.

            “You don’t know” Dimmock deadpanned, looking over at Sherlock, who still didn’t meet his eyes.

            “Mr. Holmes…” he started before he sat down in his chair.

            “I’ve done everything you asked.  Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something” he murmured.  Sherlock lifted his head and gave a faint, but proud, smile.

            “I gave the order for a raid.  Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it, other than a massive bill for overtime” Dimmock begged.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

When Sherlock and John returned to John’s flat, Sherlock immediately walked over to the fireplace and looked at the photographs as he took off his coat.

            “They’ll be back in China by tomorrow” John stated as he followed after him, waving hello to Mycroft and Lestrade, who were sitting in the living room.

            “Hello” he greeted.  Lestrade and Mycroft nodded in greeting.

            “Where’s Rosie?” John asked.

            “Sleeping in her bedroom” Lestrade replied.

            “No, they won’t leave without what they came for.  We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous” Sherlock called out, interrupting their conversation.  Mycroft, Lestrade, and John looked over at him as he walked closer to the photos, staring at them intensely.  John also looked at the photos as Sherlock ran over the main picture of the painted brick wall.

            “Somewhere in this message it must tell us” he murmured before he moved over to the dining room table, which was covered with photos, notes and drawings of various pictograms.

            “Tea?” John asked, looking at the three men.  They all nodded and John headed towards the kitchen, making four cups of tea.  He then walked back out and handed a cup to each man before sitting down in his chair.  While they all nursed their tea, Mycroft walked over to the fireplace to look at the photographs.

            “So, these numbers, it’s a cipher” he called out.  Sherlock sighed before he took a sip of his tea.

            “Yes” he replied tiredly.

            “And each pair of numbers is a word” his brother continued.  Sherlock, John, and Lestrade slowly lifted their heads and looked at elder demon.

            “How did you know that?” Sherlock demanded.  Mycroft smirked as he picked up the photograph of the brick wall, walked over to where Sherlock was sitting, and put it down on the table.  Lestrade stood up from where he sitting on the couch and John stood from where he was sitting in his chair and both men walked over to where the Holmes brothers were standing.

            “Well, two words have already been translated, here” Mycroft explained as he pointed to the picture.  Sherlock picked up the photo and stared at it.

            “John…look at this” he exclaimed as he pointed to the photograph.  John squinted but he couldn’t see what Sherlock was pointing to.

            “What is it, Sherlock?  I can’t see what you’re pointing at” he replied honestly.

            “Soo Lin at the museum, she started to translate the code for us.  We didn’t see it!” Sherlock exclaimed as he looked at the words written in fine pen across the first two symbols.

            “Nine…mill” he read aloud.  Lestrade squinted at the photograph.

            “Does that mean _millions_?” he asked.

            “Nine million quid.  For what?” Sherlock replied thoughtfully before he stood up from his seat and walked over to where his coat and scarf were hanging.

            “We need to know the end of this sentence” he declared.

            “Where are you going?” Lestrade demanded.

            “To the museum; to the restoration room” Sherlock replied as he put on his coat.

            “Oh, we must have been staring right at it!” he exclaimed as he grimaced to himself.

            “A-at what?” John asked, confused.

            “The book, John.  The book; the key to cracking the cipher!” Sherlock shouted as he brandished the photo at the angel.

            “Soo Lin used it to do this!  Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code.  It must be on her desk” he deduced before he dashed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't touch Sherlock unless you want to be punched in the face by John's fiery fist then stabbed in the heart by Sherlock's spear, which he gave to John. 
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	39. SOMEONE TOOK JOHN

Out on the street, a man and woman, obviously tourist, were walking along the road, consulting a London A-Z as they looked around.  Suddenly, Sherlock burst out of John’s flat, running towards the curb to hail a passing black cab.

            “Taxi!” he shouted.  As he swept past the tourists, he brushed past hard enough to break the man’s hold on the book, which fell the ground.

            “Hey, du! Siehst du nicht wo du hingehst?” he shouted indignantly in German, making Sherlock turn back and pick up the book, handing it back to the man.

            “Entschuldigen Sie, bitte” he apologized. 

            “Ja, danke!” the tourist snapped as he snatched back his book before turning away and putting an arm around his wife.

            “Und dann sagen die, dass die Engländer höflich sind!” he bitched.  Sherlock rolled his eyes at the man before he turned and raised his arm for the cab again, but it had already driven past.  He grunted in exasperation before he walked down the road, looking over his shoulder to check for oncoming traffic behind him.  After a few yards, he stopped and turned back, grunting angrily a second time when no cabs magically materialized before him.  He then looked up the road and noticed an Asian couple, a father and daughter, standing at the corner over the road, consulting an A-Z as they too tried to navigate their route.  Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he thought back to walking across Lukis’ living room, looking at the pile of books and papers on a table.  The London A-Z was the top book on the pile.  He then thought back further and remembered seeing a pile of books in Van Coon’s living room.  The third book down in the pile was the London A-Z.  Finally, he remembered turning around from the crates in his own living room and staring at his bookcase.

            “A book that everyone would own” he murmured to himself as his memories moved to him smiling at Soo Lin after he handed her the teapot in the restoration room.  On the table was a London A-Z.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Shaking himself of his thoughts, Sherlock quickly broke into a run, chasing after the German couple as his mind slowly began to piece things together.

            “Please, wait! Bitte!” he shouted.  The tourist couple turned back and frowned in confusion as the demon hurried towards them.

            “Was wollt er? Was will er?” the man asked as Sherlock ran up to them and snatched the A-Z from the man’s hand, turning away and looking down at the book.

            “Hey, du! Was macht du?” the man exclaimed.

            “Minute!” Sherlock snapped, turning back towards the man momentarily.

            “Gib mir doch mein Buch zurück!” the tourist exclaimed angrily.  Ignoring him, Sherlock turned his back on the couple again and opened the book.  Waving his hand in exasperation at the crazy Englander, the German tourist put his arm around his wife before they walked away.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

As the German couple walked away, Sherlock flicked through the pages of the A-Z.

            “Page fifteen, entry one. Page fifteen, entry one…” he muttered to himself as he flipped.  Finally, he turned to the correct page and looked down at the first entry on that page.  It read “Deadman’s Lane NW9”.  Sherlock slowly lifted his head.

            “Dead man.  You were threatening to kill them” he mused, thinking back to the message sprayed across Sir William’s office, across the library shelf, and across the statue in the museum.

            “It’s the first cipher” he deduced as he took the photograph of the message sprayed on the brick wall out of his coat pocket, unfolding it.  With the first words already translated, he looked at the third pair of symbols and then started flicking to the correct page in the book.

            “Thirty-six, thirty-seven; thirty-six, thirty-seven…” he muttered as he flipped to the page.  Once he found the page, the appropriate entry on the page read “Fore St. EC2”.  Sherlock summoned a pen out of thin air and wrote “FOR” over the relevant symbols on the photo.

            “Nine mill...for...” he started.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, while Sherlock was out on the streets translating the cipher, John, Lestrade, and Mycroft were sitting and nursing their tea.

            “Was Rosie a good girl?” John asked, looking at the kitsune and elder demon.  Mycroft nodded.

            “Darling” he replied.  Lestrade chuckled and nodded.

            “Really, John, she was.  Played with that little otter that Sherlock made her for a while then Myc read her a story, and about halfway through the story she fell asleep.  We just put her down in her crib when you two got home” he explained.  John nodded before he looked over at the door.

            “What is taking him so long?” he whispered.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back out on the street, Sherlock was still translating the symbols.

            “Seventy, ninety-five…” he murmured as he flipped through the book.  When he found it, the appropriate entry “Jade Cl. E16”. 

            “Jade” he muttered as he wrote on the photograph.

            “Jade” he repeated.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After about waiting an hour for Sherlock to return, Lestrade shifted into a large, silver, nine-tailed kitsune and fell asleep on the couch, Mycroft sitting next to him.  Lestrade had shifted his body so that his head was on Mycroft’s thighs while one of his nine tails was underneath the elder demon’s head so that he could nap a little easier.  John looked at the two and smiled as he finished his cup of tea before standing to his feet, taking his cup, Mycroft’s cup, and Lestrade’s cup to the kitchen, washing and drying them before he walked into Rosie’s room, making sure that she was alright.  When he leaned over her crib to peer inside, he found that she was snuggled underneath her blanket with her new otter toy that Sherlock had made for her clutched in her tiny hands.  John smiled and reached down, caressing her soft hair before he heard the doorbell ring, making him look up in confusion.

            “Now, who could that be?” he muttered to himself as he walked out of Rosie’s room over to the front door, opening it to reveal a man standing on the doorstep, wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up.

            “Can I help you?” John asked.

            “Do you have it?” the man replied.  John frowned at the man.

            “What?” he asked.

            “Do you have the treasure?” the man demanded.  John shook his head.

            “I don’t understand” he replied.  The man growled before he coshed John around the left side of his head with a pistol, making the angel fall to the floor with a thud.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Oblivious to what happened to John, out on the street, Sherlock turned to the page for the final word.  Finding the correct entry, he wrote “TRAMWAY” onto the photograph. 

 _“_ _NINE MILL FOR JADE PIN DRAGON DEN BLACK…TRAMWAY”_ he read aloud as he slowly lifted his head, staring ahead of him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Once he figured out the cipher, Sherlock ran back to John’s flat and slammed open the door.

            “John!  John!  I’ve got it!” he shouted as he ran into the house, not noticing that John wasn’t there.

            “The cipher!  The book!  It’s the London A-Z that they’re using…” he started when he trailed off, staring in shock when he saw that yellow paint had been sprayed acrossed the living room windows.  On the left-hand window was the sort-of upside down eight with an almost horizontal line above it and on the right-hand window was the single almost horizontal slash.  Together, they spelled out “DEAD MAN” and there was no sign of John.  Sherlock stared at the message in horror before looking around in confusion.

            “John?” he called out softly, but the angel didn’t answer.  The demon looked around, but he couldn’t find the angel anywhere.  He then walked back to the middle of the living room and stood there, trembling for a moment before he took a deep breath and let out a deep and pained roar so loud that it startled Mycroft and Lestrade out of their sleep.

            “Sherlock?!  What happened?” Mycroft demanded as he quickly stood up while Lestrade shifted back into his human.  Sherlock turned towards his brother and both elder demon and kitsune could see that his eyes were no longer heterochromatic, but blacker than the blackest night.

            **“SOMEONE TOOK JOHN”** he growled.  Mycroft and Lestrade’s eyes widened.

            “What?!” Mycroft exclaimed.  Sherlock nodded.

            **“SOMEONE TOOK JOHN…AND NOW THEY’RE GOING TO PAY.  HELP ME FIND HIM”** he begged, looking pleadingly at the two men.  Mycroft and Lestrade looked at each other before they looked at Sherlock and nodded.

            “Of course” Lestrade assured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do people like to take things that aren't theirs? Like, why do you want to take John? You know you're just going to die in the end
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	40. I am Shan

While Sherlock was fuming over losing John, somewhere dark, John slowly began to regain consciousness.  A fire was burning in a dustbin behind him as he slowly raised his head, feeling a stickiness on the left side of his temple.  As he grimaced in pain, a voice called out from the dim tunnel in front of him.

            “A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket” they called out.  Wincing, John looked forward to see the Chinese woman who he saw photographing him and watching him and Sherlock on Hungerford Bridge.  Despite the darkness, the woman was still wearing her dark sunglasses.  John then looked up and saw that he was in a large abandoned tunnel.  Behind the approaching the woman stood two men and a couple of other fires were burning to illuminate the area.  A few feet ahead of where John was tied to a chair by his hands and feet was a large object covered with cloth.  The woman then raised her sunglasses to the top of her head and looked down at John.

            “Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes” she stated.  John looked up at her, confused.

            “I-I’m not Sherlock Holmes” he replied. 

            “Forgive me if I do not take your word for it” the woman replied, smiling humorlessly as she reached down and pulled open John’s jacket, rummaging in the inside pocket.

            “Watch it” John hissed.  The woman then took out his wallet, opened it, and took something out.

            “Debit card, name of S. Holmes” she declared.  John’s eyes widened and he thought back to when Sherlock was sitting in the living room with Rosie after John returned without the shopping

            _“Take my card”_ Sherlock offered.

            “Yeah; that’s not actually mine.  He lent that to me” John argued.  The woman then looked in the wallet again.

            “A check for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes” she countered.

            “Yeah, he gave me that to look after” John growled.

            “Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes” the woman declared as she pulled the tickets out of his wallet.  John rolled his eyes.

            “I realize what this looks like, but I’m not him” he snapped.

            “We heard it from your own mouth” the woman stated.  John looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

            “What?” he demanded.

            “I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone…” the woman repeated, smirking at him.  John’s eyes widened as he thought back to when he was outside Soo Lin’s flat, storming back to the door and shouting through the door.

            _“... because no-one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!”_ he shouted.  Shaking himself of the memory, John stared ahead of him in disbelief.

            “Did I really say that?” he whispered before he chuckled weakly and lowered his head in pain.

            “I s’ppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression” he started but before he could finish the sentence, the woman raised a small pistol and pointed it at him.  He cringed away from it, blowing out a panicked breath, making the woman grin.

            “I am Shan” she declared.  John looked up at her.

            “You’re…you’re Shan” he breathed.  The woman, Shan, smirked.

            “Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes.  What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?” she asked as she lifted her other hand and cocked the pistol.  John cringed away again.

            “Don’t…don’t…” he softly pleaded as he struggled against his bonds.  Shan looked down at him, her expression becoming ominous as she tightened her finger on the trigger, making John breathe out heavily.  He then stared into the barrel of the gun, his face full of terror as Shan pulled the trigger all the way…only to have the gun click.  He let out a grunt of shock while Shan smiled smugly.

            “It tells you that they’re not really trying” she mused while John breathed heavily, trying to regain composure.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in John’s flat, Sherlock looked between Mycroft and Lestrade before nodding.

            “Good” he growled before quickly walking into Rosie’s room and over to her crib, only to find it empty, her little otter toy abandoned.  His black eyes widened before he let out a roar so furious, it shook the entire house.  Mycroft and Lestrade were at the doorway in seconds, looking inside with wide eyes.

            “Sherlock, what the hell?” Lestrade demanded.  Sherlock reached into the crib and slowly pulled out the otter toy, showing it to the kitsune and elder demon.  Mycroft and Lestrade’s eyes widened in horror before Mycroft’s eyes melted to red and Lestrade let out a deep, almost demonic, growl.

            “Those bastards took Rosie too” Mycroft snarled.  Sherlock nodded and looked at the otter toy before he pocketed it and turned to look at his brother and Detective Inspector.

            “I need a map of London, now!” he shouted.  Mycroft nodded and snapped his fingers, a large map appearing before the three of them.  Sherlock searched the map, running his fingers over it until he stabbed down.

            “There” he growled.  Mycroft nodded again and snapped his fingers, creating a portal of smoke and ash.  He then stepped through the portal, Lestrade following behind, Sherlock followed right after him, the portal closing behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter from the last one, but hey look, a double update! Hope you guys like it!


	41. Never Again

In the Tramway tunnel, Shan slid a clip into the pistol and cocked it before pointing it at John’s head a second time.  For the third time, John cringed away.

            “Not blank bullets now” Shan declared.

            “Okay” John replied breathily.

            “If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now.  We just wanted to make you inquisitive” Shan explained before looking at him sternly.

            “Do you have it?” she asked.  John frowned.

            “Do I have what?” he replied.

            “The treasure” Shan snapped.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about” John stated.

            “I would prefer to make certain” Shan murmured as she turned away, looking at her men, one of whom now pulled the cover off the large object to reveal the crossbow from the circus with an arrow already loaded in it.  John stared at it before sighing deeply as Shan turned back to him.

            “Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life…” she started, making John look at her in confusion.

            “Wait, prince for whose life?!” he demanded.  Shan smirked and motioned for one to the men, who walked into the shadows before returning with Rosie, bound and gagged, kicking and muffled screaming in his arms.  John’s eyes widened.

            “Rosie” he whispered in horror before he shook his head.

            “Rosie!” he shouted.  His daughter looked up and when her eyes locked with his, she let out a muffled scream.  John struggled in his bonds, trying to get to her.

            “No, please, don’t hurt her” he begged, staring at Shan, who just smirked.

            “The price for her life…” she repeated.  John stared at her with wide eyes.

            “…information” she purred as the man carrying Rosie walked over to the crossbow as she cried out repeatedly through her gag.

            “PAPA!!” she screamed, but the gag muffled the sound.

            “Not Rosie, please, not Rosie” John sobbed under his breath.  The man then placed Rosie on a chair on the other side of the crossbow, tying her down so that she was facing the arrow tip, directly in line with it.  She stared at it, crying and tugging in vain at the ropes that tied her to the chair while Shan glared down at John.

            “Where’s the hairpin?” she growled.

            “What?” John choked as tears streamed down his face, tugging at his own bonds in spite of the pistol aimed at his head.

            “The Empress Pin valued at nine million sterling.  We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy.  He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr. Holmes, have been searching” Shan explained.

            “Please.  Please, listen to me.  I’m not…I’m not Sherlock Holmes.  You have to believe me.  I haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for” John sobbed.

            “I need a volunteer from the audience!” Shan shouted suddenly.

            “No, please.  Please” John pleaded as more tears fell.  Shan then turned to Rosie, who was now whimpering in her chair.

            “Ah, thank you, young lady.  Yes, you’ll do very nicely” she purred as she walked towards the toddler, who wailed through her gag and tugged desperately at her ropes.  Shan smiled, took out a knife, reached up to a nearby sandbag suspended over a pulley hanging from the ceiling and stabbed the knife into it, making sand pour out.  Rosie continued to wail as John let out a little whimper as he stared at the bag in horror.  Shan then smiled and looked around at her audience.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes’ pretty daughter in a death-defying act!” she called out.

            “PLEASE!” John cried as Shan walked over to Rosie and placed a black origami lotus flower on her lap.

            “You’ve seen the act before.  How dull for you.  You know how it ends” she teased, looking back at John.

            “I’M NOT SHERLOCK HOLMES!” John shouted desperately as more tears streamed down his face.

            “I don’t believe you” Shan spat.

            **“YOU SHOULD”** a voice growled from the shadows.  Shan spun around as three familiar silhouettes appeared at the far end of the tunnel.

            **“SHERLOCK HOLMES IS NOTHING LIKE HIM AT ALL”** Sherlock growled.  Shan raised her pistol, cocked it again, and aimed it towards the three men.  Mycroft, Lestrade, and Sherlock immediately dodged to the side of the tunnel, disappearing into the shadows as one of Shan’s thugs started to hurry towards the end of the tunnel.

            **“HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE ME, JOHN?  RESOURCEFUL?  DYNAMIC?  ENIGMATIC?”** Sherlock growled from the shadows.

            “Late?” John sobbed before he let out a relieved whimper.

            **“THAT’S A SEMI-AUTOMATIC.  IF YOU FIRE IT, THE BULLET WILL TRAVEL AT OVER A THOUSAND METERS PER SECOND”** Mycroft growled from the shadows.

            “Well?” Shan sneered as she still pointed the gun at the shadows.

            **“WELL?”** Lestrade mocked from the darkness.  The thug soon reached a large storage container standing at the side of the tunnel and Mycroft formed a spear made of smoke and ash, throwing it at the man, sending the weapon straight through the man’s heart.  The man let out a cry and collapsed on the ground while Sherlock chuckled from the shadows.

            **“…THE RADIUS CURVATURE OF THESE WALLS IS NEARLY FOUR METERS.  IF YOU MISS, THE BULLET WILL RICOCHET.  COULD HIT ANYONE.  MIGHT EVEN BOUNCE OFF THE TUNNEL AND HIT YOU”** he purred in dark delight as Lestrade, in his kitsune form, suddenly burst out of the darkness and ran to a nearby burning dustbin, knocking it over with one of his many tails.  John flinched at the loud crash and Shan’s eyes widened when she realized that it was even more impossible to see that area of the tunnel.  John peered into the darkness, trying to see how close, Mycroft, Sherlock and Lestrade were and as he peered into the dark, Sherlock slipped out of the shadows and appeared behind Rosie’s chair.  He then knelt down and started to untie her bonds, whispering soothing words as he pulled at the rope.  However, the other man, Liang Yao, ran over to him and looped a long red scarf around his throat a couple of times and yanked, making Sherlock cry out and stand to his feet as he tugged at the part of the scar around his neck as Liang pulled tighter.  While they struggled, Rosie let out a whine while John gazed at the sandbag, which was just passing the counterbalance weight on its way down towards the metal cup on the crossbow.

            “Come on, Sherlock” he whispered.  Behind Rosie, Sherlock shook off Liang for a moment and again crouched to remove his daughter’s bonds, but Liang quickly hurried forward and swung another loop of scarf around the demon’s neck, pulling him away again.  As the men continued to struggle, John realized that Sherlock wasn’t going to get free in time.  He struggled to stand, which was almost impossible with his hands tied in front of him and attached tightly to the underside of the chair, and with his ankles tied to the legs of the chair.  Just then, he remembered that he had the element of fire at his beck and call, so he quickly engulfed himself in flames, burning the ropes and chair to nothing but tinder.  He then ran forward, only to have another thug step in front of him.

            **“GET OUT OF MY WAY, DAMN IT”** he growled before he punched the thug in the face, watching with a wicked grin as the man fell to the ground, clutching his face in pain.  He then looked up and gazed at the descending metal ball, which continued relentlessly downwards.

            _“Mycroft, Lestrade”_ he whispered.  Suddenly, the elder demon and kitsune appeared at his side and he pointed to the crossbow.

            “See that?  I need you to shift it away from Rosie” he ordered.  Lestrade and Mycroft nodded and dashed forward, pushing the crossbow slightly to the left just as the ball connected with the cup, releasing the arrow that flew across the tunnel…and buried itself in Liang’s stomach.  The man grunted before straightening up, his face full of shock.  He then groaned breathily for a moment before toppling to the floor.  Gasping for breath, Sherlock stood and looked around, hearing footsteps running in the distance – General Shan was leaving the building.  He looked in the direction of the sound before he looked over at Mycroft and Lestrade.

            “After her” he ordered.  The two men nodded and took off after her while Sherlock turned back to Rosie, who was still crying and whimpering in her bonds.  He then unlooped the red scarf from around his neck and dropped down next to her.

            “Shh…it’s alright Rosie” he soothed as he untied her gag and took it from her mouth.

            “You’re gonna be alright.  It’s over now.  It’s over” he soothed as he untied the tight bonds from around her wrist and ankles, quickly bundling her into his arms once she was free.  Rosie quickly buried her face into his chest, clutching at his shirt.

            “D-Daddy” she whimpered.  Sherlock stroked her back as he rested his cheek on her hair.

            “I’m here…Daddy’s here.  Daddy will protect you” he murmured.  As he held her, John slowly walked over to them, flames dying from his body.

            “Sherlock…” he whispered, making the demon look up at him and nod before handing Rosie over.  John quickly took her into his arms and hugged her tightly, feeling her tremble violently against him.

            “You’re safe Rose.  I’m here, Papa’s here.  You were so brave, Rosie, I’m so proud of you, you were so brave, y-you were s-so—” he murmured, trying to be comforting, before he broke down in tears, burying his face in his daughter’s neck as she clung to his jumper for dear life.  Sherlock watched as John cried over Rosie for a moment before he took a small step forward and wrapped his arms around them, holding them tightly.  John then buried his face in the demon's chest while Rosie’s face remained buried in his; John sobbing tears of relief while Rosie sobbed tears of fear.  Sherlock looked down at his family, heart breaking, before he leaned down and kissed each on their head before hugging them tighter, vowing to never let something like this happen to his angel or daughter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love suffering? I know I do. Three updates, wow, you guys are lucky. Hope you guys enjoy these updates, because this kind of triple updating won't happen again till maybe summer. Who knows. Just be grateful, okay? Cool.
> 
> Hope you guys are enjoying this story and if you are, please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	42. Nine Million Pounds

A few hours later, the police arrived to clean up the mess.  Dimmock waited beside a police car just outside the tunnel as Mycroft and Lestrade came back and reported that they had lost Shan.  Sherlock nodded and thanked them, telling them that they did their best.  The two men nodded before they walked over to John, who was murmuring soft and comforting words to Rosie as she trembled in his arms, clutching her otter toy that Sherlock had returned to her.  Both Watsons were wearing shock blankets when the kitsune and elder demon walked over.

            “Come John, let’s get you out of here” Mycroft murmured before he waved his hand, creating a portal of smoke and ash.  He and Lestrade then stood on either side of the angel and placed a hand each on the man’s back, gently guiding him into the portal.  Under normal circumstances, John would have protested that he didn’t need to be guided anywhere, but what happened that night was not normal under any circumstances and he was a bit shaken up, so he welcomed the gentle guidance of the two men as the portal closed behind them.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock watched as John and his daughter left with Mycroft and Lestrade before he turned to Dimmock, who was watching the three men leave as well.

            “We’ll just slip off.  No need to mention us in your report” the demon murmured.

            “Mr. Holmes…” Dimmock started, making Sherlock at him and smile.

            “I have high hopes for you, Inspector.  A glittering career” he praised.  Dimmock blushed slightly before he shook his head.

            “I go where you point me” he replied.  Sherlock chuckled as he walked away.

            “Exactly” he called out before he disappeared into the night.  Dimmock watched him leave, a rueful smile on his face.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The next day, in John’s flat, John was sitting at the dining room table while Sherlock stood next to him and poured him a cup of tea from a teapot.

            “Thank you” the angel murmured, taking the mug with barely trembling hands, something that did not go unnoticed by the demon.

            “You alright, John?” he asked softly.  John glanced up at him before he let out a weak chuckled and took a sip of his tea.

            “No, but I will be…eventually” he replied.  Sherlock hummed as he poured himself a cup of tea before he placed the teapot on the table and leaned over the angel’s shoulder.

            “So, nine mill…” John mused as he looked at the translated message on the photograph.

            “Million” Sherlock corrected.  John nodded.

            “Million yes; _Nine million for jade pin.  Dragon den, black Tramway_ ” he read aloud.

            “An instruction to all their London operatives” Sherlock explained.  John hummed as he sipped his tea.

            “A message; what they were trying to reclaim” Sherlock continued.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “What, a jade pin?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Worth nine million pounds.  Bright it to the Tramway, their London hideout” he elaborated.

            “Hang on; a hairpin worth nine million pounds?” John exclaimed, looking up at the demon.  Sherlock huffed as he shrugged his shoulders.

            “Apparently” he replied.

            “Why so much?” John demanded.

            “Depends on who owned it” Sherlock answered.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sherlock and John walked towards the entrance of Shad Sanderson Bank, Sherlock speaking as they walked.

            “Two operatives based in London.  They travel over to Dalian to smuggle those vases.  One of them helps himself to something: a little hairpin” he murmured.

            “Worth nine million pounds” John added.

            “Eddie Van Coon was the thief.  He stole the treasure when he was in China” Sherlock declared.  John frowned and looked up at him.

            “How d’you know it was Van Coon, not Lukis?  Even the killer didn’t know that” he stated.

            “Because of the soap!” Sherlock called back as he walked through the revolving doors.  John stared after him in confusion before he sighed and shook his head, following after him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Upstairs, Van Coon’s P.A, Amanda, was sitting at her desk and squirted a bit of hand lotion from the pump-action bottle on the desk, rubbing it into her hands as her phone rang.  She picked it up, answering it.

            “Amanda” she answered.

            _“He bought you a present”_ Sherlock stated over the phone.

            “Oh.  Hello” Amanda replied.

            _“A little gift when he came back from China”_ Sherlock continued.

            “How did you know that?” Amanda demanded.

            “You weren’t just his P.A were you?” John asked from behind her.  She quickly turned in surprise as the demon and angel walked around to the side of the desk, Sherlock switching off his phone and putting it back into his pocket as he looked down at her.

            “Someone’s been gossiping” Amanda murmured as she switched off her own phone.

            “No” Sherlock replied.

            “Then I don’t understand.  Why…?” Amanda started.

            “Scented hand soap in his apartment” John answered, interrupting her.

            “Three hundred milliliters of it.  Bottle almost finished” Sherlock added.  Amanda frowned.

            “Sorry?” she asked, confused.

            “I don’t think Eddie Van Coon was the type of chap to buy himself hand soap – not unless he had a lady coming over.  And it’s the same brand as that hand cream there on your desk” Sherlock explained, motioning to the pump-bottle on her.

            “Look, it wasn’t serious between us.  It was over in a flash.  It couldn’t last – he was my boss” Amanda replied softly.

            “What happened?  Why did you end it?” John asked, leaning slightly into Sherlock.  The demon smiled at the contact and adjusted his stance so that he could support the man’s weight.

            “I thought he didn’t appreciate me.  Took me for granted.  Stood me up once too often – we’d plan to go away for the weekend and then he’d just leave; fly off to China at a moments noticed” Amanda answered sadly.

            “And he brought you a present from abroad to say sorry” Sherlock deduced, focusing on the jade pin in her hair.

            “Can I…just have a look at it?” he asked, holding out his hand.  Amanda nodded and held her hair in place with one hand as she took the pin out with the other.

            “Said he bought it in a street market” she stated as she placed the pin in Sherlock’s outstretched hand.

            “Oh, I don’t think that’s true.  I think he pinched it” Sherlock replied as he and John looked at the pin.  Amanda chuckled ruefully.

            “Yeah, that’s Eddie” she murmured.

            “Didn’t know it’s value; just thought it would suit you” John mused as he looked at the pin.

            “Oh?  What’s it worth?” Amanda asked, curious.  Both Sherlock and John smirked sa they looked up at her.

            “Nine…million…pounds” they stated at the same time.  Amanda’s face filled with shock as she stared at them.

            “Oh my God!” she exclaimed before she stumbled backwards away from them.

            “Oh my G…” she started before she turned and ran away.

            “Nine million!” she shrieked, high-pitched and hysterical.  Sherlock and John looked at one another before they chuckled at her reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I was a bit busy over the past few days but here I am! Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	43. I AM CERTAIN

The next morning, Sherlock, wearing a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, was sitting on the couch and looking at the front page of the Sunday Express, where the headline read, “Who Wants To Be A Million-Hair”.  He then tsked, folded the paper in half, put it down, and picked up another newspaper.

            “Over a thousand years old and it’s sitting on her bedside table every night” John mused across from him as he danced Rosie’s little otter in front of her face, playing with her.  Thankfully, thanks to Mycroft’s demonic powers, Rosie was healed of her rope burns and her memory was wiped of ever being kidnapped.

            “He didn’t know its value; didn’t know why they were chasing him” Sherlock replied.

            “Hmm…should’ve just got her a lucky cat” John teased, glancing up at the demon.  Sherlock looked at him and smiled slightly before he looked away.

            “Hmm” he hummed as his gaze became distant.  John looked up from playing with Rosie and looked at the demon closely.

            “You mind, don’t you?” he asked softly.  Sherlock looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “What?” he replied.  John smiled fondly.

            “That she escaped—General Shan.  It’s not enough that we killed three henchmen” he explained.  Sherlock sighed.

            “It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives.  You and I, we barely scratched the surface” he grumbled.

            “You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it” John offered.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “No.  No.  I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book” he spat as he opened his newspaper and lifted it, beginning to read.  John rolled his eyes before his gaze drifted over to the window and he frowned, looking closely as a young man in a hooded jacket and cap walked over to a tall black box on the other side of the road which dispenses parking permits.  Putting a bag on the ground, the young man looked around in all directions to make sure he was not being watched, then lifted a spray can in his right hand and sprayed his tag on the back of the box.  John watched as the “artist” finished the tag, picked up his bag, and hurried away.  As Sherlock, oblivious to the outside, continued to read his paper, John looked thoughtful as he ran a hand through Rosie’s hair as a police car screamed its way down the road.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile, somewhere in London, in a dark room, Shan was sitting at a desk and talking to someone over a computer.  Her live image was transmitted to the other person, but the space on the screen which should have been showing the face of whoever she was talking to was marked “No image available”.  There was also a text box on the screen that showed that the person whom she was talking to was simply indicated as “M”. 

            “Without you – without your assistance – we would not have found passage into London.  You have my thanks” Shan thanked humbly.

            **“GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS.  IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS”** M replied on the screen.  The computer then beeped to indicate that the message had finished.

            “We did not anticipate…we did not know this man would come – this Sherlock Holmes” Shan stated as her face filled with concern.

            “And now your safety is compromised” she added.

            **“THEY CANNOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME”** M typed.

            “I will not reveal your identity” Shan promised sincerely.

            **“I AM CERTAIN”** M replied as the computer beeped.  Unseen by Shan, the red light of a rifle’s laser sight appeared in the center of her forehead before there a single gunshot rang out and a bullet smashed through the window opposite en route to its target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	44. BORED!

Months later, in a prison visitor’s room in Minsk, Belarus, Sherlock, wearing his coat with a fur collar attached, was sitting at one of the many tables in the room.  Across him was Barry “Bezza” Berwick, a young Kishi Englishman, who was wearing an orange jumpsuit, obviously a prison inmate.  Apart from the uniformed guard standing some distance away, they were the only people in the room.

            “Just tell me what happened, from the beginning” Sherlock ordered, sounding bored.

            “We’d been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin’ with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren’t ‘appy with that, so ... when we get back to the ‘otel, we end up havin’ a bit of a ding-dong, don’t we?” Barry replied.  Sherlock sighed out a deliberate and noisy breathe, growing more annoyed.

            “She was always gettin’ at me, sayin’ I weren’t a real man” Barry continued.

            “Wasn’t” Sherlock interrupted.

            “What?” Barry asked, confused.  Sherlock ran a hand through his hair.

            “I’s not “weren’t”; it’s “wasn’t”” he explained.

            “Oh” Barry murmured.  Sherlock then waved his hand.

            “Go on” he grumbled.

            “Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there’s a knife in my hands.  And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives” Barry continued, making Sherlock look down at his hand, which were resting on the table.

            “He learned us how to cut up a beast” Barry explained with a bit of pride in his voice.

            “Taught” Sherlock spat.

            “What?” Barry demanded, getting angry.

            “Taught you how to cut up a beast” Sherlock replied calmly.

            “Yeah, well, then-then I done it” Barry continued.

            “Did it” Sherlock corrected.

            “Did it!  Stabbed ‘er…” Barry paused as he repeated slammed his hand down on the table.

            “…over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren’t…” he started to explain when Sherlock turned his head away, sighing out a loud breath through his nose.  Getting control of himself, Barry cleared his throat.

            “…wasn’t movin’ no more” he finished, correcting himself.  Sherlock, who had just turned his head back towards Barry, now turned it away again with an annoyed look.

            “…anymore” Barry corrected before he sighed deeply.

            “You’ve gotta help me.  I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident.  I swear” he murmured softly.  Sherlock just rolled his eyes and stood to his feet, walking away.

            “You’ve gotta help me, Mr. Holmes!” Barry called out frantically.  Sherlock stopped.

            “Everyone says you’re the best.  Without you, I’ll get hung for this” Barry shouted.  Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at the young man.

            “No, no, no, Mr. Berwick, not at all” he started before he looked away thoughtfully for a moment before he turned back to look at the man and smiled as his eyes flicked to black.

            “Hanged, yes” he sneered before he turned on his heels and walked away.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back at John’s flat, Sherlock, dressed in sleepwear and a blue silk dressing gown, was slumped in his chair, head on the low back.  His eyes were closed, then a few moments later, he opened them and gazed towards the ceiling before he looked towards the sofa, where a smiley face had been spray-painted on the wall using a can of the yellow paint from their last case.  He then sighed and raised his left hand, which was holding a pistol, and pointed it towards the smiley face.  Without even looking in that direction, he fired two shots, hitting the smiley face in the eyes.  He then turned his head to look at the face and fired a third shot, which either missed the smile or was deliberately aimed to form a “nose” for the face.  Just as he fired the fourth shot, John came running into the room, a crying Rosie in his arms.

            **“WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES!”** he roared.  Sherlock turned and looked at him, who was looking back at him with wide eyes.

            “What the hell are you doing?!” he exclaimed as Rosie let out a wail.

            “Bored” Sherlock replied sulkily.  John shook his head as he bounced Rosie in his arms before he looked at the demon in disbelief.

            “What?” he exclaimed.

            “Bored!” Sherlock shouted as he sprang out of his chair.  John immediately recoiled and covered one of Rosie’s ears with his hand, pressing her other ear into his shoulder.

            “Sherlock…” he started when Sherlock switched the pistol to his right hand, turning towards the smiley face and firing at it again.  He then swung his arm around his back, twisting slightly to his right as he fired at the wall from behind his back.

            “Bored!  Bored!” he boomed.

            “Sherlock, think about Rosie!” John roared angrily.  Sherlock immediately stopped and looked towards his daughter, who was looking up at him with terrified eyes.  He then sighed, placing the pistol on the arm of his chair before he walked over to John and Rosie, who let out a little whimper.  Sherlock smiled softly as he reached out and took her from John’s arms, hugging her to his chest.

            “Sorry sweetheart…Daddy’s just having a bad morning” he murmured into her hair before he began walking around the flat, bouncing Rosie in his arms, whispering soothing words into her hair.  He then looked up at John.

            “Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes.  Good thing I’m not one of them” he grumbled.  John stared at him before he looked at his wall.

            “So you took it out on my wall and nearly traumatized your daughter” he relied.  Sherlock grimaced and hugged Rosie a little tighter, making the girl squeak and cling to his sleeping gown as her trembling subsided.  Sherlock smiled slightly and kissed the top of her head before he walked over to the sofa and laid down, resting her on his chest with one hand on her back.

            “What about that Russian case?” John asked as he walked over to Sherlock’s chair and picked up the pistol.  Sherlock sighed as he petted Rosie’s back.

            “Belarus.  Open and shut domestic murder.  Not worth my time” he grumbled.  John rolled his eyes as he took the pistol and locked it in a cabinet.

            “Next time, ask before you use my guns” he instructed before walking into the kitchen.

            “Hungry?” he called out just as he opened the fridge, only to let out a stream of rather vulgar curses.

            “Sherlock…why is there a severed head…in my refrigerator?” he called out slowly, trying to keep his composure.

            “I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death” Sherlock called back as he slowly stood up from the couch, making sure that he didn’t wake his now sleeping daughter in the process.

            “I got it from Bart’s morgue” he added.  John growled and closed the refrigerator door.

            “Sherlock…we’re going to contaminate the food Rosie eats and then she’s going to get sick!  Get that head out of here” he ordered, pointing to the refrigerator.  Sherlock nodded and walked over to the kitchen, handing Rosie over to John before he walked over to the fridge, opening it up.  He then waved his hand, ridding the refrigerator of both the head and bacteria, making the icebox clean.  John let out a relieved sigh as he looked up at him.

            “Thank you” he murmured.  Sherlock smiled and walked around him over to the kettle.

            “Tea?” he asked.  John shook his head.

            “No, thank you, I’m fine” he replied.  Sherlock shruggd his shoulders, made his cup of tea, then walked back into the living room, sitting down in his chair.  John then followed after him, looking over at his wall that the demon shot up.  He then slowly walked over to it, looking up at it.

            “Seriously Sherlock…what possessed you to shoot up my wall and scare your daughter half to death?” he asked.  Sherlock chuckled and took a sip of his tea.

            “Like I said, I was having a bad morning” he replied.  John groaned and rolled his eyes.

            “But my wall, Sherlock?!” he exclaimed as he turned to look at the demon.  Sherlock smirked and took another sip of his tea.

            “You know you love me” he teased, smiling at the angel.  John rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond when suddenly a massive explosion went off in the street behind them.  Sherlock’s eyes widened and he shot up out of his chair, dropping his tea cup that shattered as it connected with the floor.

            “JOHN!” he shouted as he quickly ran over to the angel and his daughter, throwing his arms around them as he unfurled his wings to protect them as the windows blew in and the blast hurled them forward to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Sorry I couldn't update yesterday, my account was being stupid and I was also taking a "me" day to rest and catch up on some much needed sleep. Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	45. I'd Be Lost Without My Angel

In Mycroft’s large mansion, the demon was sitting in his chair before the television, watching the news.

 _“Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century”_ the Newscaster stated as they showed a photo of the Hickman Art Gallery, with a headline at the bottom of the screen saying “The Lost Vermeer.” 

            _“The last time...it fetched over twenty million pounds”_ they added.  Mycroft just rolled his eyes and lifted the remote to change the channel.

            _“This one is anticipated to do even better. Back now to our main story. There’s been a massive explosion in central London”_ the Newscaster continued.  Mycroft’s eyes widened and he quickly leaned forward in his seat.

            “What?” he whispered under his breath as he looked at the TV screen and his face filled with shock as the picture changed to show live footage of a road where brickwork was scattered all over the pavement, and police cordons had been set up to keep people out.  His eyes widened even more when the camera panned to show an image of John’s flat.

            _“Yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement”_ the Newscaster continued.  Mycroft quickly stood to his feet.

            “Gregory!” he shouted, panic in his voice.  The kitsune ran into the room, eyes wide with fear.

            “Mycroft?  What is it?  What’s wrong?” he demanded as he walked over to the demon.  Mycroft pointed to the television and Lestrade gasped.

            “Shit” he swore.  Mycroft nodded and waved his hand, creating a portal.  The two men stepped through and quickly appeared of John’s flat, looking around.

            “Sherlock!  Sherlock!” Mycroft called out.

            “John!  Rosie!” Lestrade called after him.

            “Here, M-Mycroft” a voice weakly called back.  The elder demon and kitsune ran into the living room to see that the entire room was a mess with a large black mass by the sofa.

            “Sherlock?” Lestrade and Mycroft called out at the same time.  The black mass suddenly shifted as Sherlock unwrapped his wings and arms from around John and Rosie, slowly standing to his feet as he pulled his wings against his back.  John was on his back, clutching Rosie tightly to his chest, panting heavily.

            “Are you two alright?!” Mycroft exclaimed as he ran over to his little brother, eyeing him up and down.  Lestrade, meanwhile, walked over to John and held out a hand, which the angel took gratefully as he held onto Rosie tightly.  Lestrade helped him to his feet then dusted him off before he reached out and took Rosie from his arms.

            “Come on John, let me help you sit down” he murmured as he helped guide the angel over to his chair.  As he lowered into his chair, John let out a shaky breath before he put his head in his hands.  Sherlock looked over at him and quickly moved away from Mycroft’s motherhenning to squat before the angel, placing his hands on top of John’s.

            “John.  John, look at me” he whispered.  John slowly raised his head and Sherlock could see there was a haunted look in his eyes that he hadn’t seen since General Shan had taken Rosie and nearly put an arrow through her head.

            “Oh John” he murmured before he pulled the angel in for a hug.  John buried his face into Sherlock’s neck and clung to the dressing gown tightly while Sherlock stroked his back, hushing him.  Mycroft and Lestrade watched for a moment before Mycroft turned to Lestrade.

            “Find out the cause of that explosion” he growled.  Lestrade nodded, handed Rosie over to him, and quickly ran out of the flat.  Mycroft watched him leave before he looked back at his brother and John, who were no longer hugging, but instead had their foreheads pressed together as Sherlock murmured soft, almost inaudible words that only John could hear.  While he was watching them, Lestrade quietly walked back into the house, making sure not to disturb John or Sherlock.

            “Well?” Mycroft asked when Lestrade arrived at his side.

            “Gas leak, apparently” the kitsune replied.  Mycroft groaned and rolled his eyes before he looked down at Rosie, making sure that there were no cuts and bruises on her.  Once he found no injuries, he cleared his throat, gaining John and Sherlock’s attention.

            “Mycroft?” Sherlock called out, glancing over at his brother.  Mycroft waved his hand and a manila folder appeared in front of them.

            “Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends” he stated.  John looked at him before he reached out and took the folder.

            “A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in” Mycroft continued.  John hummed.

            “Jumped in front of a train?” he asked.  Mycroft nodded.

            “Seems the logical assumption” he replied.  John then quirked a brief smile.

            “But…?” he asked.  Mycroft sighed.

            “The M.O.D is working on a new missile defense system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it’s called” he explained as John flipped through the folder.

            “The plans for it were on a memory stick” Lestrade added.  John sniggered quietly.

            “That wasn’t very smart” he murmured.  Sherlock smiled at the comment while Mycroft just rolled his eyes.

            “It’s not the only copy” he stated.  John glanced at him.

            “Oh?” he replied.  Mycroft nodded.

            “But it’s secret.  And missing” he explained.

            “Top secret?” Sherlock asked.

            “Very.  We think West must have taken the memory stick.  We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands” Mycroft replied before he looked at his little brother.

            “You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock” he pleaded.  Sherlock nodded.

            “I’ll do my best” he promised.  Lestrade then cleared his throat, gaining their attention.

            “Well, if everyone is alright now, I’m going to head off.  I’ll let you know if something interesting comes up” he stated before he turned on his heels and walked out the door.  Mycroft watched him leave before he turned back to Sherlock and John.

            “I must be off as well…the government never sleeps” he teased before he handed Rosie back to John and disappeared in a cloud of sulfur and ash.  Sherlock and John both coughed before John leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh.

            “Alright John?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow at the angel.  John stroked Rosie’s back and shut his eyes.

            “Ask me in a few minutes” he replied tiredly, sounding as if he had aged thirty years.  Sherlock smiled at him sadly before that smiled disappeared as his phone buzzed.

            “Holmes” he answered.  John cracked open an eye and looked at him, watching as the demon listened to the phone call for a moment before his face intensified.

            “Of course.  How could I refuse?” he replied before he stood up and switched off his phone, looking at John.

            “Lestrade.  I’ve been summoned.  Coming?” he asked as he snapped his fingers, changing from his sleepwear to his usual black pants, purple dress shirt, and black dress shoes.  John sat up, still holding Rosie, and looked back at him.

            “If you want me to” he replied.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Of course” he exclaimed softly as he grabbed his coat and turned to look back at the angel with a fond smile.

            “I’d be lost without my angel” he teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	46. Boom!

After a taxi ride from the flat, Sherlock and John arrived at New Scotland Yard, following Lestrade across the general office towards his office.

            “You like the funny cases, don’t you?  The surprising ones” Lestrade asked.  Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes.

            “Obviously” he replied.  John gently smacked his arm as he carried Rosie in the baby carrier that Sherlock had gotten back when they first started solving cases together.

            “Behave” he scolded.  Sherlock huffed before he looked at Lestrade and motioned for him to continue.  Lestrade chuckled before he shook his head.

            “You’ll love this. That explosion…” he started as they walked past Detective Sergeant Donovan desk, Sherlock exchanging glares with the Gorgon

            “Gas leak, yes?” he interrupted.  Lestrade shook his head.

            “No” he answered.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “No?” he repeated. 

            “No.  Made to look like one” Lestrade replied.  John’s eyes widened.

            “What?” he demanded, not even realizing that they were now in Lestrade’s office as Sherlock stopped and stared at a white envelope lying on a desk.

            “Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box – and inside it was this” Lestrade explained, pointing to the envelope. 

            “You haven’t opened it?” Sherlock asked.  Lestrade crossed his arms.

            “It’s addressed to you, isn’t it?” he replied.  Sherlock huffed and began to reach for the letter.

            “We’ve X-rayed it. It’s not booby-trapped” Lestrade reassured. 

            “How reassuring” Sherlock murmured, hesitating slightly before he picked up the envelope and took it across the room to another table which had an anglepoise lamp on it.  Holding the envelope close to the bulb, he examined both sides carefully before looking at the front of the envelope which had in elegant handwriting “Sherlock Holmes – by hand”. 

            “Nice stationery.  Bohemian” he deduced.

            “What?” Lestrade asked.

            “From the Czech Republic.  No fingerprints?” Sherlock continued.

            “No” Lestrade replied.

            “She used a fountain pen.  A Parker Duofold – iridium nib” Sherlock declared, looking closely at the writing.

            “She?” John repeated.

            “Obviously” Sherlock answered.  John rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.

            “Obviously” he repeated before he sighed.  Sherlock then picked up a letter opener from the desk and carefully slit the envelope open, looking inside.  His mouth opened a little in surprise as he reached in and removed a pink iPhone.

            “But that’s – that’s the phone; the pink phone” John exclaimed. 

            “What, from the first case?” Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “It isn’t the same phone.  This one’s brand new” he declared as he looked at the connection sockets, none of which had scratches around them.

            “Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone” he murmured as he turned on the phone, immediately receiving a voice message.

            _“You have one new message”_ the phone stated.  The message played but there was no voice – just the unmistakable sound of the Greenwich Time Signal.  However, while the “Greenwich pips” – as they’re more generally called – consisted of five short pips and one longer tone, this recording had only **_four_** short pips and the longer one.

            “Is that it?” John asked, looking at the phone as he stroked Rosie’s hair.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “No.  That’s not it” he replied.

            “What the hell are we supposed to make of that?  An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!” Lestrade exclaimed.

            “It’s a warning” Sherlock stated as he gazed thoughtfully into the distance.  John’s eyes widened as he slowly wrapped his arms around Rosie, giving her a gentle squeeze.

            “A warning?” he repeated.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They’re warning us it’s gonna happen again” he explained, briefly looking down at the photo again before brandishing the phone at the others as he started to leave the office.

            “And I’ve seen this place before” he added.  John’s eyes widened as he quickly followed after the demon.

            “H-Hang on.  What’s gonna happen again?” he demanded, squeezing Rosie a little tighter.

            “Boom!” Sherlock exclaimed as he turned back, raising his hands dramatically before turning and heading out the door, John following behind.  Lestrade let out a groan and rolled his eyes before he grabbed his coat off his chair and quickly followed after them.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The three men then took a cab back to John’s flat and once the cab pulled up to Baker Street, they all got out and started to walk back to John’s flat when Sherlock stopped and noticed another flat that led to a basement flat.

            “John.  Lestrade.  Look at this” he called out.  The angel and kitsune turned and walked over, standing next to him and looking to where he was pointing.

            “What is it, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, glancing at the demon who said nothing as he walked forward until he stood before the door.  John glanced over at Lestrade before he followed Sherlock to the door and stood behind him, watching as he summoned a key out of thin air.

            “Sherlock, what are you doing?” he asked as Lestrade walked up and stood beside him.

            “The door’s been opened recently” Sherlock replied as he began to unlock the door with the key.  Lestrade frowned.

            “What?  How do you know?” he replied.  Sherlock ignored him as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, making John and Lestrade look at one another before they followed after him, Lestrade shutting the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Finals are coming up for me so just as a heads up, this story will not be updated until summer. Supernatural Detective Agency and Supernatural Hospital will be updated because I have most of the chapters already written for those, so I don't have to worry about them. But eve then, I don't know if I'm going to update those, so just as a heads up, my stories will not be updated until summer. Cool? Thanks for understanding.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this update and please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	47. Shoes

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushed open the door to the living room and walked inside, followed behind by Lestrade and John.  The room looked exactly like it did in the photograph on the phone with only one exception: there were a pair of trainers placed neatly side by side in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door.  John stopped and looked at them, stroking Rosie’s hair thoughtfully.

            “Shoes” he mused.  Sherlock started to walk towards them when John quickly held out a cautionary hand towards him.

            “He’s a bomber, remember” he reminded, motioning down with his eyes to Rosie.  Sherlock stopped and looked at his daughter for a moment before he nodded and continued slowly towards the trainers.  He then crouched down, placed his hands on the floor and leaned forward.  Lowering his body down, he moved closer to the shoes and just as his nose almost touched them, a phone rang.  Sherlock started, closing his eyes momentarily before he pushed himself to his feet and pulled off his glove, taking the pink iPhone from his coat and looking at the caller I.D.  It read “NUMBER BLOCKED”.  He paused for a second before switching on the speaker, holding the phone a few inches from his mouth.

            “Hello?” he answered softly.

            “H-hello…sexy” a woman tearfully greeted.  John and Lestrade’s eyes widened and they quickly walked over to Sherlock so that they could hear the phone call better.

            “Who is this?” Lestrade asked, just as softly.

            “I’ve…sent you…a little puzzle…just to say hi” the woman replied tearily.

            “Who’s talking?  Why are you crying?” John asked gently.

            “I-I’m not…crying…I’m typing…” the woman replied, shakily and full of tears.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Not too far from the flat, the woman on the other end of the line was sitting in the driver’s seat of a car, holding a phone to her ear with one shaking hand while holding a pager in the other.  Her face was covered with tears and she looked terrified as she read from the pager.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “…and this…stupid…bitch…is reading it out” the woman continued before she sobbed again.  Sherlock gazed thoughtfully into the distance as the woman continued to cry.

            “The curtain rises” he murmured, making John look at him with wide eyes.

            “What?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Nothing” he replied.

            “No, what did you mean?” Lestrade demanded.  Sherlock glanced over at him and John.

            “I’ve been expecting this for some time” he replied calmly.

            “Twelve hours to solve…my puzzle…Sherlock…” the woman sobbed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the car, the woman had a large explosive device strapped to her chest and a red laser point traveled over the device and her neck, suggesting that a sniper was aiming at her from some distance away.

            “…or I’m going…to be…so…naughty” she finished before the line went dead.  The woman then looked down at the bomb and the laser light, sobbing in despair.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, Sherlock brought the trainers to a lab and quickly put on a pair of latex gloves as he looked closely at them.  He then picked them up, examined the laces carefully, peered at the shoes from all directions, then dug out dried mud from the treads in the soles, placing it into a petri dish.  Putting the shoes down again, he looked at them thoughtfully.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Later, Sherlock was sitting at a bench looking into a microscope while behind him, a computer screen showed that a scanner was running tests while John wondered up and down the other side of the bench, bouncing Rosie in his arms.

            “So, who’d you suppose it was?” he asked as a phone trilled a text alert.

            “Hmm?” Sherlock replied absently, ignoring the text.  

            “The woman on the phone – the crying woman” John elaborated.

            “Oh, she doesn’t matter.  She’s just a hostage.  No lead there” Sherlock replied.  John looked at him and let out an exasperated groan.

            “For God’s sake, I wasn’t thinking about leads!” he exclaimed.

            “You’re not going to be much use to her” Sherlock replied before he glanced across to the scanner as it continued to throw up “NO MATCH” results, before looking back into the microscope.

            “A-are they trying to trace it?  Trace the call?” John demanded as he continued to bounce Rosie in his arms.

            “The bomber’s too smart for that” Sherlock replied calmly as the phone from before trilled another text alert.

            “Pass me my phone” Sherlock ordered.  John looked around the room.

            “Where is it?” he replied.

            “Jacket” Sherlock stated, matter-of-factly.  John straightened up slowly, his entire body going rigid in disbelief as his eyes broadcasted the message “I **_am_** going to kill you”.  Turning to his right, he then marched stiffly around the table and roughly pulled open Sherlock’s jacket with one hand as he started to rummage inside his pocket while holding Rosie in his arm.

            “Careful” Sherlock growled.  John hissed as he barely controlled his temper and pulled out the phone.

            “Text from your brother” he stated.

            “Delete it” Sherlock replied instantly.  John’s eyes widened.

            “Delete it?” he repeated.

            “Missile plans are out of the country now.  Nothing we can do about it” Sherlock explained.  John rolled his eyes before he looked at the message.

 

_Any progress on Andrew West’s death?_

_Mycroft_

 

            “Well, Mycroft thinks there is.  He’s texted you eight times.  Must be important” he mused.  Sherlock raised his head in exasperation.

            “Then why didn’t he cancel his dental appointment?” he asked.  John looked at him in confusion.

            “His what?” he replied, furrowing his brow.

            “Mycroft never texts if he can talk.  Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains.  End of story.  The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?” Sherlock snapped before looking down at his microscope again. John sighed and turned off the phone before he shifted Rosie so he could put one of his hands on his hips.

            “Try and remember there’s a woman here who might die!” he exclaimed.

            “What for?” Sherlock replied, looking up at the angel.

            “This hospital’s full of dying people, **Doctor**.  Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?” he sneered.  John looked at him, eyes wide with shock, almost as if he had been slapped, before he turned away in disbelief, hugging Rosie tightly to his chest.  Sherlock glanced at him before he looked down at the microscope once more.  After a few moments, he looked back up at John, who looked absolutely gutted, and sighed as he stood up from his bench, walking over to where the angel was standing.  He then wrapped his arms around him from behind and rested his chin on his silver-blonde hair.

            “I’m sorry I snapped at you” he whispered.  John didn’t want to be swayed by Sherlock’s apology, but he could hear the genuine apologetic tone in his voice, so he decided to be swayed…if only a little.

            “It _was_ rather hurtful” he replied, leaning into Sherlock’s embrace.  Sherlock smiled slightly and tightened his hug, letting out a soft sigh.

            “I didn’t mean to say such mean things…I know you helped many people when you were in the military…I was rude.  Forgive me?” he asked, almost pleadingly.  John chuckled and rolled his eyes.

            “Of course” he replied fondly.  Sherlock smiled a little wider and kissed the top of John’s head when the computer beeped a result.  The two supernatural beings immediately turned before Sherlock removed his arms from around John’s waist and walked over to the computer.

            “Ah!” he exclaimed in delight as he looked across the screen which was flashing “SEARCH COMPLETE”.  At the same moment, Molly came through the door.

            “Any luck?” she asked, smiling slightly.

            “Oh, yes!” Sherlock replied triumphantly.  As Molly came over to look at the screen, a man in his thirties, wearing black slacks and a T-shirt, came through the door before stopping apologetically.

            “Oh, sorry.  I didn’t—” he started when Molly turned and smiled brightly at him. 

            “Jim!  Hi!” she exclaimed.  Sherlock looked over at her briefly, running his eyes up and down her body, making an immediate deduction, before looking back into the microscope.

            “Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes” Molly introduced as Jim closed the door and walked over to her.

            “Ah!” he exclaimed, smiling slightly.  Molly then motioned to John and Rosie.

            “And this is John Watson and his daughter Rosie” she continued.  John looked the man up and down before he tightened his hold on his daughter, who waved at Jim.

            “Hello” he greeted tightly.  Jim smiled.

            “Hi” he replied, waving back at Rosie.  His eyes then locked onto Sherlock’s back as he gazed at him admiringly.

            “So, you’re Sherlock Holmes.  Molly’s told me all about you.  You on one of your cases?” he asked, taking a step towards Sherlock, only to have John step in front of him, glaring daggers.  Jim thankfully got the hint and remained where he stood next to Molly, who smiled brightly.

            “Jim works in I.T. upstairs.  That’s how we met.  Office romance” she explained before she and Jim giggled.  Sherlock glanced briefly round at Jim before returning to look into the microscope.

            “Gay” he deduced.  Molly frowned.

            “What?” she asked.  Sherlock quickly shook his head while John snickered.

            “Nothing” he replied before he smiled falsely at Jim.

            “Um, hey” he greeted.  Jim smiled admiringly at him.

            “Hey” he answered.  Lowering his hand, he knocked a metal dish off the edge of the table, feigning surprise as he scrambled to pick it up.

            “Sorry!  Sorry!” he exclaimed, giggling nervously.  John turned away, trying to hide his annoyance, while Sherlock looked irritated.  Jim then placed the dish back on the table before scratching his arm and wandering back towards Molly.

            “Well, I’d better be off.  I’ll see you at The Fox, ‘bout six-ish?” he asked.  Molly smiled and nodded.

            “Yeah” she agreed.  Jim smiled as he stopped besides her, placing a hand on her back before looking back towards Sherlock.

            “Bye” he called out.

            “Good bye” Sherlock snapped.  Jim blinked, looking a little shocked, before turning and leaving the room.  Molly waited until the door was closed before she turned to Sherlock.

            “What d’you mean gay?!  We’re together!” she exclaimed.  Sherlock looked up at her and smirked.

            “And domestic bliss must suit you.  You’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you” he replied.  Molly crossed her arms.

            “So have you” she countered.  Sherlock smiled and shrugged.

            “What can I say?  John’s a good cook” he stated, glancing over at the angel, who smiled and dipped his head in silent thanks before looking over at Molly.

            “Now Molly, I don’t always agree with how Sherlock runs his operations, but in all honesty, I don’t think Jim’s a good guy.  Besides, he left his number under this dish here” he explained, showing the unicorn the card.  Molly let out a little gasp before she sighed sadly.

            “I knew it was too good to be true” she murmured.

            “Sorry” Sherlock apologized.  Molly shook her head.

            “No, no, it’s fine.  Thank you for telling me” she murmured before she turned and walked off.  Once she was gone, Sherlock turned to John and motioned to the trainers.

            “Go on then” he instructed.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “Mmm?” he replied.  Sherlock rolled his eyes.

            “You know what I do.  Off you go” he teased as he sat back and folded his arms expectantly.  John made incoherent negative noises before he shifted Rosie in his arms so he could put his hand on his hips again.

            “No” he growled.

            “Go on” Sherlock egged.  John shook his head.

            “I’m not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try to disseminate…” he started.

            “An outside eye, a second opinion.  It’s very useful to me” Sherlock interrupted.

            “Yeah, right” John replied sarcastically.

            “Really” Sherlock promised.  John groaned before he walked over to the demon and held out Rosie, who made grabby hands at him.

            “Hold her then, if you insist on making me do this” he grumbled.  Sherlock chuckled and took his daughter in his arms, turning her around so that she could watch John work.  The angel then turned to the pair of trainers and picked up one of the shoes while looking at it and its partner lying on the table.

            “I dunno – they’re just a pair of shoes.  Trainers” he muttered.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Good” he praised.

            “Um…they’re in good nick.  I’d say they were pretty new…except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while” John continued as he turned the shoe in his hand to look at the bottom.  Sherlock, who started to look frustrated when John said they were new, breathed out a sigh of relief at the fact that his partner wasn’t completely stupid.

            “Uh, they’re very eighties – probably one of those retro designs” John continued.  Sherlock nodded as he gently rested his chin on top of Rosie’s head.

            “You’re on sparkling form.  What else?” he asked.

            “Well, they’re quite big, so a man’s” John deduced.  Sherlock’s lips curled into a smile.

            “But—” he started.

            “But there’s a trace of a name inside in felt-tip.  Adults don’t write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid” John replied as he looked inside both trainers and saw blue smudges along the sides.  Sherlock looked at him proudly and used Rosie’s hands to clap an applause for him.

            “Excellent.  What else?” he asked.  John looked at him and frowned.

            “Um…that’s it” he replied as he looked again at the shoe in his hand before he put it down.  Sherlock looked at him, surprised.

            “That’s it?” he asked.  John nodded before he sighed.

            “How’d I do?” he replied, knowing that he didn’t do very well.  Sherlock smiled slightly.

            “Well, John; really well” he assured.  He then paused for a moment.

            “I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know…” he started before he reached out and took John’s hand in his, making John look at him with confused blue eyes.  Sherlock smiled a little bigger, something soft about the smile this time.

            “You did really well.  I’m proud” he whispered.  John smiled and Rosie let out a little “yay!”, making his smile grow.

            “Thank you” he replied before he handed Sherlock the trainer.

            “The owner loved these.  Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored.  Changed the laces three…no, four, times” the demon deduced.

            “Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have encountered them, so he suffered from eczema.  Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches.  British-made, twenty years old” he continued.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “Twenty years?” he repeated.  Sherlock nodded.

            “They’re not retro – they’re original” he declared as he pulled his phone out and showed John a picture.

            “Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine” he explained.  John shook his head while Rosie leaned against Sherlock and reached out to touch the shoe.  The demon quickly moved the shoe away and covered Rosie’s small hands with his larger one.

            “No sweetie, don’t touch” he gently scolded.  Rosie let out a whine and Sherlock chuckled, waving his hand to form a hedgehog stuffed animal.  He then handed it to her, which made her let out a little squeal as she grabbed it and hugged it to her chest.  Sherlock and John both chuckled before John looked at the shoe.

            “But there’s still mud on them.  They look new” he murmured.

            “Someone’s kept them that way.  Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles.  Analysis shows it’s from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it” Sherlock declared.  John looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “How do you know?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded towards the computer screen.

            “Pollen.  Clear as a map reference to me” he answered.  John looked at the screen and saw that two dots were flashing on the map of Britain; one around the borders of East and West Sussex and the other to the south-east of London.

            “South of the river, too.  So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind” Sherlock added.  John frowned.

            “So, what happened here?” he asked.

            “Something bad” Sherlock deadpanned.  He then looked up at John.

            “He loved those shoes, remember.  He’d never leave them filthy.  Wouldn’t leave them unless he had to.  So: a child with big feet gets…” he started when he trailed off, staring ahead of himself.

            “Oh…” he mumbled.  John looked across the lab, trying to see what the demon was seeing.

            “What?” he asked.

            “Carl Powers” Sherlock replied softly.  John shook his head.

            “Sorry, who?” he asked.

            “Carl Powers, John” Sherlock repeated, still staring off into the distance.

            “What is it?” John asked.

            “It’s where I begin” Sherlock answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated this story in like...forever. You wanna know why? I had finals, I came home, I helped out with my high school choir's dinner theatre, and then this past week, I just got over fucking food poisoning/the stomach flu. I'm not really sure which one it was, but fuck, it was bad. Like, I didn't even want to touch my computer it was that bad. Sorry that I made y'all wait, but my health comes first, ya know? 
> 
>  
> 
> That being said, please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	48. We Found It

Later that day, in a taxi, Sherlock was explaining his theory to John.

            “Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool.  Tragic accident” he explained as he showed John the front page of a newspaper on his phone with one hand while clutching Rosie around the middle with the other.

            “You wouldn’t remember it.  Why should you?” he continued.  John sighed and gave him a look.

            “But you remember” he stated.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Yes” he answered.  John crossed his arms.

            “Something fishy about it?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Nobody thought so – nobody except me.  I was only a kid myself.  I read about it in the papers” he bragged.  John chuckled.

            “Started young, didn’t you?” he teased.  Sherlock smiled slightly before he cleared his throat.

            “The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out, it was too late.  But there was something wrong; something I couldn’t get out of my head” he explained.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “What?” he asked.

            “His shoes” Sherlock answered.

            “What about them?” John asked as he reached over and caressed Rosie’s cheek.

            “They weren’t there.  I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important.  He’d left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes…” he started as he leaned down and picked up the bag containing the trainers.

            “…until now” he finished.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

As Sherlock sat in the back of the taxi, holding the pink phone while lost in thought, the woman who rang him earlier sat in her car crying in despair.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in John’s flat, Sherlock was sitting at the dining room table with the trainers nearby – still in the bag of course – while he looked through photographs and printouts of newspaper reports of Carl Powers’ death from 1989.  Meanwhile, in the living room, John was pacing back and forth, Rosie watching him with curious blue eyes.

            “Can I help?” he asked.  When Sherlock didn’t respond, he groaned.

            “Sherlock, please, I want to help.  There’s only five hours left” he exclaimed.  Just then, his phone buzzed, so he pulled it out and looked at the screen.

 

_Any developments?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

            “It’s your brother.  He’s texting me” he called out. 

            “Must be a root canal” Sherlock replied thoughtfully.  Putting his phone away, John walked over the table and leaned against it, crossing his arms.

            “Look, he did say “national importance”” he mused.

            “How quaint” Sherlock replied, not looking up from his research.

            “What is?” John asked, frowning.

            “You are.  Queen and country” Sherlock sneered.  John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

            “Sherlock, you can’t just ignore it” he mumbled.

            “I’m not ignoring it.  Putting my best man onto it right now” Sherlock replied with a smile.  John glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “Oh?  And who might that be?” he asked.  Sherlock glanced up at him, making John let out a groan.

            “Sherlock…” he started.

            “I’ll watch Rosie, I promise” Sherlock offered.  John glared at him before he sighed and leaned down, kissing Sherlock on his head.

            “You better” he murmured into the demon’s curly black hair before he stood up and pushed off the table, walking over to Rosie.

            “Be good sweetheart” he instructed as he knelt and kissed her forehead before he stood up and walked over to the door, grabbing his coat on the way out.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sometime later, John was in Mycroft’s large office, waiting for the elder demon to see him.  Suddenly, the door opened and the elder demon walked in, reading a report.

            “John.  How nice.  I was hoping you wouldn’t be long” Mycroft greeted as he looked up from the report and sat down.  The angel nodded and Mycroft smirked.

            “How can I help you?” he asked.  John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

            “Sherlock sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile planes” he explained.  Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

            “Did he?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “He sent me because he’s busy with another case” he replied.  Mycroft nodded.

            “Ah, I see.  That would explain why he hasn’t answered my texts” he mused before he leaned back in his chair.

            “Well, what would you like to know?” he asked.  John shrugged.

            “Anything you can tell me” he replied.  Mycroft nodded.

            “Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6.  He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity.  Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies…” he rattled off before he hummed and thought for a moment.

            “Last seen by his fiancée at ten-thirty yesterday evening” he added.  John nodded in understanding.

            “Right.  He was found at Battersea, yes?  So, he got on the train” he suggested.  Mycroft shook his head.

            “No” he replied.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “No?” he repeated.

            “He had an Oyster card…” Mycroft started before he grimaced, raising his hand to his mouth.  John frowned as he began to realize that Sherlock might have been right about Mycroft having had a root canal filling to one of his teeth.

            “…but it hadn’t been used” he finished.  John frowned.

            “Must have bought a ticket” he offered.  Mycroft shook his head again.

            “There was no ticket on the body” he stated as he lowered his hand.  John frowned again.

            “Then…” he started.

            “Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea?  That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to.  How’s he getting on?” Mycroft asked, interrupting the angel.  John sighed.

            “With the other case, we’re making progress, with this one, not so much” he responded honestly.  Mycroft hummed.

            “A woman’s life is at stake, isn’t it?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “Yes” he answered softly.  Mycroft nodded in understanding.

            “Go home then.  My case can wait” he declared before he snapped his fingers, teleporting John out of his office.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At John’s flat, Sherlock was still at the dining room table, this time with Rosie beside him.  The little girl was resting her head on her hedgehog stuffed animal and watched as Sherlock peered into a microscope.  After a while, Sherlock looked up.

            “Poison” he whispered.  Rosie looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “Daddy?” she asked.  Sherlock suddenly slammed his hands down on the dining room table, startling the toddler.

            “Clostridium botulinum!” he shouted.  Rosie blinked at him before she let out a little whine, signaling that she was about to start crying.  Sherlock whipped his head towards her before quickly gathering her in his arms, holding her head to his chest so that she could hear his heartbeat to calm down.

            “Sorry Rosie, I’m sorry, shh, don’t cry, it’s alright, Daddy’s sorry” he soothed as he stroked Rosie’s hair.  Rosie sniffled and latched onto the demon’s shirt as John walked through the door.

            “Sherlock, I’m home!” he called out.

            “It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!” Sherlock exclaimed, turning to look at the angel, who stared back at him blankly.

            “What?” John asked, confused.

            “Carl Powers!” Sherlock shouted, trying to get John to understand.  The angel looked at him and blinked before he shook his head.

            “Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?” he asked as he walked over to the demon and his daughter.  Sherlock stood up and walked over to where he had hung up the laces from the trainers and motioned with a hand for John to follow.

            “Remember the shoelaces?” he asked.

            “Mmhm” John answered as he stood next to Sherlock.

            “The boy suffered from eczema.  It’d be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication.  Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns” Sherlock explained.  He then handed Rosie over to John before he walked back to where his computer notebook was lying.  The page was open at the Forum of his own website, The Science of Deduction, and he began to type into the message box.

 

_FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989)._

 

            “But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet” he added, pointing to the laces.  He then bent down and continued typing.

 

_Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St._

He sent the message then straightened up.

            “That’s why they had to go” he explained.

            “So how do we let the bomber know…” John started as he shifted Rosie in his arms.

            “Get his attention…” Sherlock interrupted.

            “Mmhm” John agreed.

            “…stop the clock” Sherlock murmured as he looked at his watch.

            “The killer kept the shoes all these years” John stated.

            “Yes” Sherlock replied as he looked up from his watch at John.

            “Meaning…” he started.

            “He’s our bomber” John finished.  Just then, the pink phone rang on the side table.  Sherlock hurried over to it and switched on the speaker.  In the car park, the woman sobbed in anguish as she read out the latest message from the pager.

            “Well done, you.  Come and get me” she sobbed.

            “Where are you?  Tell us where you are” Sherlock demanded, loudly and clearly.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sometime later, the woman stared anxiously out of the car window as members of a bomb disposal team, dressed in protective padded clothing, made their way towards the car.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Next morning, at Scotland Yard, the boys were in Lestrade’s office, with Sherlock standing at the window that looked into the main office, his hands raised in front of his mouth and his fingers tapping together while John sat opposite of Lestrade at his desk, Rosie in his arms.

            “She lives in Cornwall.  Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house” Lestrade explained, looking up at Sherlock as he walked towards the desk.

            “Told her to phone you.  She had to read out from this pager” he stated, putting the pager onto the desk in front of John, who picked it up to examine it.

            “And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off” Sherlock deduced.

            “Or if you hadn’t solved the case” John added.

            “Oh.  Elegant” Sherlock whispered, walking back to the window.  John rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

            “Elegant” he huffed.

            “But what was the point?  Why would anyone do this?” Lestrade asked, crossing his arms.

            “Oh – I can’t be the only person in the world that gets bored” Sherlock replied.  Just then, the phone buzzed, making the three men look up.

            “You have one new message” the phone beeped.  As Sherlock walked towards Lestrade’s desk, the phone sounded the Greenwich pips again, but this time there were three short pips and one long one.

            “Four pips” John murmured.

            “First test passed, it would seem.  Here’s the second” Sherlock stated.  He showed a new photograph to the others.  It was a close-up of a car with its driver’s door open and the number plate clearly visible.  John and Lestrade got up to take a closer look when outside in the main office, a phone rang.

            “It’s abandoned, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock asked.

            “I’ll see if it’s been reported” Lestrade replied.  As he picked up his desk phone, Sergeant Donovan came to the office holding another phone.

            “Freak, it’s for you” she called out, looking at Sherlock.  John growled softly as Sherlock walked over to the door and took the phone from her.

            “Hello?” he answered.

            “It’s okay that you’ve gone to the police” a frightened young man answered on the other line.

            “Who is this?  Is this you again?” Sherlock demanded.

            “But don’t rely on them” the young man continued.  In Lestrade’s office, John looked around and sat up taller when he saw the look on Sherlock’s face, clutching Rosie tighter to his chest.

            “Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers” the young man purred as he stood in the middle of a busy street, reading from a pager.

            “I never liked him” he continued.  Sherlock looked around sharply at that statement.

            “Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing” the young man, who was wearing a zipped-up jacket with wires hanging out the bottom, continued, fighting his tears as he continued to read.  John came out of the office and walked closer to Sherlock, looking at him in concern as he held Rosie tighter.

            “And you’ve stolen another voice, I presume” Sherlock growled into the phone.

            “This is about you and me” the young man stated as a bus noisily drove past.

            “Who are you?” Sherlock demanded as more life passed by on the other line.

            “What’s that noise?” he spat as the young man looked down at the pager, struggling not to weep.

            “The sounds of life, Sherlock” he replied.  He was standing on a large traffic island at Piccadilly Circus as pedestrians walked past him, taking no notice of a distressed, tearful man.

            “But don’t worry…” the young man continued as he read from the pager.  He then looked down in tearful horror when he saw a red laser point on his jacket.

            “…I can soon fix that” he finished.  He then let out a sob before he continued to read.

            “You solved my last puzzle in nine hours.  This time you have eight” he declared.  In the office, Lestrade was talking into the phone.

            “Okay…great” he murmured into the phone.  Hanging up the phone, he headed towards the door.

            “We’ve found it” he declared, just as Sherlock’s phone went dead.  The demon barred his teeth before he turned and followed after Lestrade, John following behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated this story in fucking ever. Hope you guys enjoy this update! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	49. Mr. Ewert's a Liar

Close to the river, the police had arrived at a large open space where the car was found.  Forensic officers in protective clothing were working on the car as Lestrade led Sherlock towards it, John and Sally Donovan walking along behind them.

            “The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford.  Banker of some kind; City boy.  Paid in cash” Lestrade explained, consulting his notes.  Sherlock looked closely as they passed a woman talking to a female police officer.

            “Told his wife he was going away on a business trip but he never arrived” Lestrade continued.  As Sherlock and Lestrade reached the passenger door of the car, Sally turned to John.

            “You’re still hanging around him” she commented.  John glared at her out of the corner of his eye as he shifted Rosie in his arms.

            “And you’re still making unnecessary comments that you shouldn’t be making” he snapped.  Sally flinched at John’s tone before she went to stand by Lestrade while Sherlock leaned into the car to look at the large amount of blood smeared over the island between two front seats.  He then opened the glove box as John walked over, only to cover Rosie’s eyes.

            “Oh god” he gasped.

            “Before you ask, yes, it’s Monkford’s blood.  The DNA checks out” Lestrade stated, making John gulp and shift Rosie in his arms so that her face was facing away from the car.  While he was looking, Sherlock found a business card in the glove box and took it out.  Closing the lid, he straightened up.

            “No body” he declared.  Donovan shook her head.

            “Not yet” she replied.  Sherlock looked at Lestrade.

            “Get a sample sent to the lab” he ordered.  The kitsune nodded as Sherlock and John walked away.  While they were walking away, Lestrade turned to Donovan and gave her a pointed look.  She stared back at him indignantly but he held the look and she grunted in exasperation before stomping away.  As she was walking away, Sherlock and John walked over to the woman who was talking with the police officer.

            “Mrs. Monkford?” he started.  The woman turned to him tearfully.

            “Yes?” she replied.  She then looked at him and John before sighing.

            “Sorry, but I’ve already spoken with two policemen” she explained.  John shook his head.

            “No, we’re not from the police; we’re…” he started when Sherlock held out his hand to the woman.

            “Sherlock Holmes.  Very old friend of your husband’s.  We, um…” he introduced, his voice tearful and tremulous.  As she shook his hand, he looked down as if fighting back tears.

            “…we grew up together” he explained.  Mrs. Monkford looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “I’m sorry, who?  I don’t think he ever mentioned you” she sniffed.

            “Oh, he must have done.  This is…this is horrible, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked, still tearful.  John turned away, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep his face neutral as he held Rosie’s head to his chest so that she wouldn’t hear Sherlock cry so that she would start crying.

            “I mean, I just can’t believe it.  I only saw him the other day.  Same old Ian – not a care in the world” Sherlock continued, smiling tearfully at her.

            “Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months.  Who are you?” Mrs. Monkford demanded.  By now, Sherlock had tears running down his face.

            “Really strange that he hired a car.  Why would he do that?  It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?” he asked.

            “No, it isn’t.  He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that’s all” Mrs. Monkford replied.  Sherlock laughed tearfully.

            “Oh, well, that was Ian!  That was Ian all over!” he exclaimed.

            “No, it wasn’t” Mrs. Monkford snapped.  Instantly Sherlock’s fake persona dropped and he stared at her intensely.

            “Wasn’t it?  Interesting” he purred before he turned and walked away.  Mrs. Monkford glared after him as he headed for the police tape, John following behind.  When the police officer walked over to her, she turned to glare at them.

            “Who was I talking to?” she demanded.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            “Why did you lie to her?” John asked as he and Sherlock ducked under the police tape, clutching Rosie’s head to his chest.

            “People don’t like telling you things, but they love to contradict you.  Past tense, did you notice?” Sherlock asked as he took his gloves off to wipe away the tears from under his eyes.

            “Sorry, what?” John asked, looking over at the demon.

            “I referred to her husband in the past tense.  She joined in.  Bit prematurely – they’ve only just found the car” Sherlock mused as he reached over to take Rosie from John’s arms, since he knew they must have been getting tired.

            “You think she murdered her husband?” John asked as he gratefully handed Rosie over to the demon.  Sherlock shook his head as he shifted Rosie in his arms.

            “Definitely not.  That’s not a mistake a murderer would make” he replied.  John nodded.

            “I see.  Wait, no, I don’t.  What am I seeing?” he demanded, looking at Sherlock.  The demon ignored the question.

            “Sherlock…” John tried as they continued to walk past Donovan.

            “Fishing!  Try fishing!” the Gorgon called out, turning towards them.  John shot her a glare before he looked back at Sherlock.

            “Where now?” he sighed, knowing that the demon wouldn’t answer his other question.

            “Janus Cars” Sherlock replied, handing a business card to the angel.

            “Just found this in the glove compartment” he explained.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the car dealership, Sherlock and John were in the office of the car hire company.  John sat at the other side of the desk to the owner, taking notes, while Sherlock looked out into the forecourt, Rosie still in his arms.

            “Can’t see how I can help you gentlemen” the manager, Ewert, stated.

            “Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday” John replied.

            “Yeah.  Lovely motor.  Mazda RX-8.  Wouldn’t mind one of them myself” Ewert exclaimed with a smile.  Sherlock then walked over to the other side of the desk so that he was standing beside Ewert before pointing into the forecourt.

            “Is that one?” he asked, shifting Rosie in his arms.  Ewert turned his head to look and Sherlock immediately examined the side of the man’s neck closely.

            “No, they’re all Jags.  Yeah, I can see you’re not a car man, eh?” he teased.  Sherlock straightened up as Ewert looked around and smiled at John, who did not return the smile.

            “But, er, surely you can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?” Sherlock asked.

            “Yeah, it’s a fair point.  But you know how it is: it’s like working in a sweetshop.  Once you start picking at the licorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?” Ewert replied as he began to scratch near the top of his left arm with his right hand.  Sherlock looked at him for a moment before turning away and heading around the room towards the other side of the desk.

            “But you didn’t know Mr. Monkford?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.  Ewert shook his head.

            “No, he was just a client.  Came in here and hired one of my cars.  No idea what happened to him.  Poor sod” he replied.  Sherlock reached the other side of the desk and stopped, shifting Rosie in his arms once more as she squirmed to get comfortable.

            “Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?” he asked.  The man looked up at him.

            “Eh?” he replied. 

            “You’ve been away, haven’t you?” Sherlock asked.  Ewert’s eyes widened.

            “Oh, the…the…” he started, motioning to his tanned face.  He then shook his head.

            “No, it’s, er, sunbeds, I’m afraid, yeah.  Too busy to get away.  My wife would love it, though – bit of sun” he explained.  Sherlock hummed as he placed a kiss on top of Rosie’s head.

            “Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?” he asked suddenly.  John’s head whipped towards him, eyes wide.

            “What?” Ewert asked, confused.

            “Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven’t got any change” Sherlock continued.  John wanted to protest that the demon should not smoke in front of their daughter, but Sherlock sent him a look that said he was lying, so the angel kept his mouth shut.

            “I’m gasping” Sherlock lied.

            “Um, well…” Ewert started, taking out his wallet and opening it.

            “No, sorry” he replied, looking up at Sherlock.  Sherlock shrugged and hefted Rosie in his arms.

            “Oh well.  Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert” he thanked as he turned and headed for the door.

            “You’ve been very helpful.  Come on, John” he called out.  John nodded and stood up from his seat, walking quickly to catch up to the demon.  Once they left the office, John turned to look at Sherlock.

            “What was that all about?  The cigarettes?  You don’t smoke” he stated.  Sherlock chuckled and nodded.

            “You’re right, I don’t.  But I needed to look inside his wallet” he explained.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “Why?” he asked.

            “Mr. Ewert’s a liar” Sherlock growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update till late. I had work and I forgot to ask them what the wifi/wifi password was. Hope you guys enjoy this update. Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe. Also, I'm very sore since I had gym today, so if this end note comes off as either tired or rude, I'm sorry


	50. New Case

At St. Bart’s lab, Sherlock had a large drop of blood in a shallow petri dish.  Putting the dish onto the desk, he reached into a small bag of equipment, opened a bottle and siphoned out some liquid with a small dropper.  Bending down to the dish, he squeezed out a drop of liquid onto the blood, which started to fizz.  John and Rosie watched with interest when the pink phone suddenly rang.  Sherlock and John looked at one another before Sherlock picked up the phone and answered it, putting it on speaker.

            “Hello?” he answered.

            _“The clue’s in the name.  Janus Cars”_ the young man replied as he tearfully read from the pager. 

            “Why would you be giving me a clue?” Sherlock demanded.

            _“Why does anyone do anything?  Because I’m bored.  We were made for each other, Sherlock”_ the young man replied.  John growled and tightened his grip on Rosie.  Whoever this mysterious person was…they were most certainly not made for Sherlock, that was for damn sure.

            “Then talk to me in your own voice” Sherlock ordered softly, glancing over at John.

            _“Patience”_ the young man replied tearfully before the line went dead.  Sherlock lowered the phone and looked over at John, flashing him a fond smile.  He then waved at Rosie before he looked down at the fizzing liquid in the dish.  He picked it up and looked at it more closely before he smiled widely.  John smiled slightly.

            “Got something, have you?” he asked.  Sherlock looked up at him and nodded.

            “Indeed” he replied.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the car pound, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade stood around Monkford’s car.

            “How much blood was on that seat, would you say?” Sherlock asked.  Lestrade, who was holding Rosie, looked over at him.

            “How much?  About a pint” he replied.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Not “about”.  Exactly a pint.  That was their first mistake.  The blood’s definitely Ian Monkford’s, but it’s been frozen” he explained.  Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

            “Frozen?” he repeated.  Sherlock nodded.

            “There are clear signs.  I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of blood some time ago and that’s what they spread on the seats” he deduced.

            “Who did?” John asked, crossing his arms.

            “Janus Cars.  The clue’s in the name” Sherlock replied, looking over at John, whose eyes widened in realization.

            “The god with two faces” he breathed.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Exactly” he replied.

            “Mmm” John hummed.  Sherlock then turned to Lestrade, who was brushing Rosie’s bangs out of her face.

            “They provide a very special service.  If you’ve got any kind of problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear.  Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he’s a banker.  Couldn’t see a way out.  But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver’s seat…” he started.  Lestrade frowned.

            “So, where is he?” he asked.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Colombia” he replied.  Lestrade’s eyes widened.

            “Colombia?!” he exclaimed.  The demon nodded.

            “Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty-thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet…” he explained, flashing back to Ewert opening his wallet to reveal a Colombian peso note.

            “Quite a bit of change too.  He told us he hadn’t been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly” he continued, flashing back to him pointing out the window and Ewert turning his head to look while he saw that his tan finished at his neck.

            “No one wears a shirt on a sunbed.  That, plus his arm” John added.  Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

            “His arm?” he repeated.  The angel nodded.

            “Kept scratching it.  Obviously irritating him and bleeding” he deduced, remembering Ewert scratching at his arm and seeing a drop of blood on the sleeve of his shirt.

            “Why?  Because he’d recently had a booster jab.  Hep-B probably.  Difficult to tell at that distance.  Conclusion: he’d just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia.  Mrs. Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars” Sherlock declared.  Lestrade gasped.

            “M-Mrs. Monkford?” he repeated.  John chuckled and nodded.

            “Oh yes.  She’s in on it too” he assured.  Lestrade lowered his head with a look of amazement on his face as he stroked Rosie’s hair.

            “No go and arrest them, Inspector.  That’s what you do best” Sherlock praised.  Lestrade nodded and handed Rosie to John before he shifted into a nine-tailed kitsune and ran back to the crime scene.  Once he left, Sherlock turned to John.

            “We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved” he declared.  John nodded and as the two began to walk away, Sherlock grinned, revealing his fangs.

            “I am on fire!” he exclaimed.  John just rolled his eyes and let out a huff of a laugh as he hefted Rosie in his arms.

            “I’m sure you are” he murmured.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In John’s flat, Sherlock was sitting in his chair while John rested in his, Rosie cuddled to his chest with Sherlock’s purple scarf in her hands.  While John and Rosie were resting, Sherlock was typing in his blog.

 

_Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia._

He then sent the message.  As soon as he sent it, another “blocked” phone call came in on the pink phone lying on the table.  John opened his eyes and looked towards Sherlock as he answered the call, putting it on speaker.

            _“He says you can come and fetch me.  Help.  Help me, please”_ the young man sobbed.

            “Police are on the way” John called out.  Once the line went dead, Sherlock looked over at John and smiled.

            “You did well, doctor” he praised.  John blushed.

            “Thank you” he replied humbly.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The next morning, Sherlock and John were sitting opposite of each other at a table in a café.  Rosie was with Mycroft because the elder demon was getting a little bored and he wanted to see his niece, so it worked out perfectly.  John was tucking into a cooked breakfast and had a mug of tea in front of him while Sherlock was drumming his fingers impatiently on the table waiting for the pink phone – which was lying on the table – to ring.

            “Feeling better?” Sherlock asked.  John looked up at him and nodded before he stabbed a bit of egg and held his fork out to him.  The demon gave him a look, but John held it until Sherlock sighed and leaned forward, eating the egg that John offered to him.  He then let out a little moan, making John smile as he took a few more bites before pushing the plate over to him.  Sherlock’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest when John held up a hand.

            “Don’t, Sherlock.  You need to eat.  You do realize that we’ve hardly stopped for breath since this thing started, right?” he asked as Sherlock began to eat the remainder of his breakfast, which was rather a lot.  Sherlock nodded and John smiled as he sipped at his tea before he looked thoughtful.

            “Has it occurred to you…” he started.  Sherlock looked up from the plate of food.

            “Probably” he interrupted, his mouth full of food.  John rolled his eyes.

            “Sherlock, don’t speak with your mouth full” he scolded.  The demon sighed before he swallowed his bite of food.

            “Sorry” he apologized.  John smiled before he shook his head.

            “No — has it occurred to you that the bomber’s playing a game with you?  The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid’s shoes – it’s all meant for you” he stated.  Sherlock smiled slightly.

            “Yes, I know” he replied.  John bristled slightly.

            “Is it him then?  Moriarty?” he asked, voice tight.  Sherlock shrugged.

            “Perhaps” he replied before he took another bite of food.  Just then, the pink phone beeped a message alert.  Sherlock switched it on and it sounded two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appeared on the screen.

            “That could be anybody” Sherlock murmured.  John smirked.

            “Well, it could be, yeah.  Lucky for you, I get bored easily” he teased.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “How d’you mean?” he asked.  John smiled smugly.

            “Lucky for you, I watch far too much telly when I’m not out on cases with you” he replied as he stood up and walked over to the counter.  Smiling at the woman behind the counter, he picked up a remote control and switched on the small television hung on the wall.  He changed channels a couple of times before he found what he wanted.  The woman from the photograph was on the screen, partway through her make-over show.  She was gesturing to someone just off screen.

            _“Thank you, Tyra!  Doesn’t she look lovely, everybody, now?”_ the woman, Connie, asked.  Just then, the pink cellphone rang.

            _“Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows ears…”_ the woman continued.

            “Hello?” Sherlock asked as he picked up and answered the phone.

            _“This one…is a bit…defective.  Sorry”_ an old woman tremulously replied in a Yorkshire accent.

            _“She’s blind.  This is…a funny one”_ she continued.  In her location, the old woman was wearing an earpiece and was also strapped to a bomb.  Wearing a warm dressing down and sitting up in bed, she was holding a phone to the ear which didn’t have the earpiece in and she was staring blankly ahead of herself as she narrated the words being spoken through the earpiece.

            _“I’ll give you…twelve hours”_ the old woman declared.  John looked at Sherlock in concern as he sat down.

            “Why are you doing this?” Sherlock demanded.

            _“I like…to watch you…dance”_ the old woman answered.  As she finished speaking, she gasped and sobbed in terror.  Even though she could not see it, there was still a laser point from a sniper’s rifle running over her body.  Sherlock lowered the phone and shook his head at John, then dropped the phone onto the table as he turned to look at the TV.

            _“…and I see you’re back to your old bad habits”_ Connie continued.  As the footage continued, a voiceover replaced her voice and a news headline at the bottom of the screen read: Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 54. 

            “ _…continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince.  Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programs, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead…”_ the Newscaster stated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	51. Something New

At Bart’s Morgue, Connie Prince’s body had been laid out on a table in the morgue, with a sheet covering her, leaving only her head, arms, and upper chest bare.  Lestrade led the boys into the room, reading from a file as he walked.

            “Connie Prince, fifty-four.  She had one of those make-overs shows on the telly.  Did you see it?” he asked, glancing behind at Sherlock.  The demon shook his head.

            “No” he replied.  Lestrade tsked.

            “Very popular.  She was going places” he commented.  Sherlock snickered.

            “Not any more” he replied.  John and Lestrade both shot him a look so he quickly cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the awkwardness.

            “So: dead two days.  According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden.  Nasty wound” he deduced as he and John looked at the deep cut in the webbing between her right thumb and index finger.

            “Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna” Sherlock murmured.

            “I suppose…but something’s wrong with this picture” John declared.  Lestrade and Sherlock both raised an eyebrow at him.

            “Eh?” Lestrade questioned.

            “What do you mean, John?” Sherlock demanded.  John cleared his throat and motioned to the hand.

            “Can’t be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn’t be directing us towards it.  Something’s wrong” he explained.  He then bent down and looked at Connie’s arm, noticing that there were several scratches on her upper arm which looked like claw marks then moved up to her face and noticed some tiny pinpricks on her forehead just above her nose.

            “That cut on her hand: it’s deep; would have bled a lot, but the wound’s clean – very clean, and fresh.  Normally the bacteria would have been incubating in her for about eight to ten days.  So, in conclusion, the cut was made later” he declared.  Sherlock looked at him with wonder in his eyes while Lestrade frowned at him.

            “After she was dead?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “Must have been.  The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman’s system?” he replied before he looked over at Sherlock.

            “I’m going to get you some data on Connie Prince’s background – family history, everything” he stated before he left the room.  Sherlock watched him leave with pure awe in his eyes before he shook his head and looked down at Connie’s body once more before turning and heading towards the door.

            “There’s something else we haven’t thought of” Lestrade called out.

            “Is there?” Sherlock replied casually.

            “Yes.  Why is he doing this?  The bomber” Lestrade asked.  Sherlock stopped, keeping his back to the inspector, looking a little anxious.

            “If this woman’s death was suspicious, why point it out?” Lestrade continued.

            “Good Samaritan” Sherlock called back nonchalantly over his shoulder.

            “…who press-gangs suicide bombers?” Lestrade persisted, crossing his arms.

            “Bad Samaritan” Sherlock offered.

            “I’m…I’m serious, Sherlock.  Listen: I’m cutting you slack here; I’m trusting you – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard’s covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle.  So just tell me: what are we dealing with?” Lestrade begged.  Sherlock looked away thoughtfully before he turned towards the kitsune and smiled with delight.

            “Something new” he replied before he left the room.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The old woman sat quietly in her bed while the sniper – who must **really** love his job, considering that the woman couldn’t see what he was doing – continued to keep his rifle’s laser trained on her.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In John’s flat, the wall behind the sofa was covered with paperwork: maps, photographs of Connie Prince – both when she was alive and pictures taken in the morgue – photos of Carl Powers, press cuttings and various sheets of paper with notes scribbled on them and pieces of stringer were pinned between some of the exhibits, linking them together.  Sherlock was pacing back and forth in front of the sofa while Lestrade stood nearby.

            “Connection, connection, connection.  There must be a connection” Sherlock murmured under his breath.  He then stopped and gestured towards various spots on the display on the wall.

            “Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago.  The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him.  The bomber’s iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic.  First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent.  What’s he doing – working his way round the world?  Showing off?” he demanded.  Just then, the pink phone rang.  Sherlock quickly took it from his pocket and saw that the Caller I.D. again read “NUMBER BLOCKED”.  He switched on the speaker and the old woman began to narrate what was being said into her earpiece.

            _“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?  Joining the…dots”_ she sobbed.

            _“Three hours: boom…boom”_ she continued before she cried out in terror as the phone went dead.  Sherlock looked at Lestrade for a moment, then switched off the phone, put it back in his pocket, and raised his hands to his mouth in the prayer position, concentrating on the wall in front of him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In a beautifully and elegantly decorated house, a hairless cat meowed as it wandered about on a sofa in the living room.  Kenny Prince, a Lamassu man in his late fifties who was wearing a very fancy purple shirt, came into the room.  Behind him, the much younger and far more dishy “houseboy” Raoul stopped at the doorway and gestured to John to go in.

            “We’re devastated.  Of course we are” Kenny stated.  As John walked into the living room, Kenny reached the other side of the room and turned back, propping his arm on the mantlepiece.  John nodded and sat down on the sofa next to the cat as Raoul looked over at him.

            “Can I get you anything, sir?” he asked.  John shook his head.

            “No, thank you” he replied.  Raoul looked across the room to Kenny, who smiled at him.  Raoul returned the smile, then turned and left the room.

            “Raoul is my rock.  I don’t think I could have managed” Kenny explained before he looked down sadly.

            “We didn’t always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me” he continued.  John nodded as the cat climbed on top of his lap and sat down.

            “And to the public, Mr. Prince” he added as he began to stroke the cat.  The Lamassu chuckled.

            “Oh, she was adored.  I’ve seen her take girls who looked like the back end of a Routemasters and turn them into princesses” he admitted.

            “Still, it’s a relief in a way to know that she’s beyond this veil of tears” he finished.  John nodded in understanding.

            “Absolutely” he agreed.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Back in John’s flat, Sherlock was talking on his phone while Lestrade continued to stare at the photo-covered wall.

            “Great, thank you.  Thanks again” the demon stated before he hung up and walked over to where Lestrade was standing.

            “Who was that?” Lestrade asked, looking over at the demon.

            “Home Office” he replied.  Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

            “Home Office?” he repeated.

            “Well, Home Security, actually.  Owes me a favor” Sherlock explained.  Lestrade hummed before he looked back at the wall.

            “Did you ever see her show?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Not until now” he replied as he turned and picked up his laptop, opening it.  A video started to play, showing footage of an episode of Connie’s make-over show.  She was talking to her brother in the TV studio.

 _“You look pasty love!”_ she exclaimed.

            _“Ah…rained every day but one”_ Kenny replied, addressing the audience.

            “That’s the brother.  No love lost there, if you can believe the papers” Lestrade murmured.  Sherlock hummed.

            “So I gather.  I’ve just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show.  Fan sites – indispensable for gossip” he stated.

 _“There’s really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don’t you think, girls?”_ Connie asked, gesturing to the clothes that her brother was wearing.

            _“Off!  Off!  Off!”_ she began to chant as she stood up and clapped.  The audience took up the chant and the clapping.  By the third “Off!”, Connie was rhythmically beating her hands quite hard onto Kenny’s back as he dropped his jacket to the floor and started to unbutton his shirt.  He grimaced in pain but then turned a false smile towards the audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I know this is going to sound very mean, but could you guys please give me kudos instead of comments? I mean, I absolutely adore comments, I love replying to them, but I have a bit of a problem when the comment count is higher than the kudos that the story is receiving. I know that sounds weird and stupid, but that's just how I am. So please, please, please, leave more kudos, a little less comments, bookmark, and subscribe!


	52. Proud of You

In Kenny Prince’s house, Kenny was still standing by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at a framed photograph of Connie holding her TV award while John was sitting on the sofa, looking down at his notebook.

            “It’s more common than people think.  The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose buses, garden forks, that sort of thing.  If left un…” he started, only to look up in surprise when Kenny – who had walked across the room unnoticed – now plonked heavily down onto the sofa beside him and stared at him intensely.

            “…treated…” he continued slowly.

            “I don’t know what I’m going to do now” Kenny stated.  John gulped slightly and nodded.

            “Right” he replied.

            “I mean, she’s left me this place, which is lovely…” the Lamassu continued.  John around the living room with his eyes narrowed, apparently not agreeing how “lovely” the place might be.

            “…but it’s not the same without her” Kenny finished.

            “Th-that’s why my paper wanted to get the, um, full story straight from the horse’s mouth.  You’re sure it’s not too soon?” John asked as he tried to unsuccessfully get away from the Lamassu.

            “No” Kenny replied firmly.

            “Right” John murmured.

            “You fire away” Kenny ordered, staring intently at him as the cat meowed and trotted across the carpet.  Watching it, John reached up to rub the side of his nose.  As he pulled his hand away again, he suddenly realized something and quickly raised his hand to his nose once more, pretending to rub it while he quietly sniffed at his fingers and looked towards the cat again.

            “Interesting” he whispered to himself.

~*~*~*~*~

 

In John’s flat, Sherlock and Lestrade were still standing in front of the wall display.  Sherlock’s phone suddenly rang and he fished it out of his jacket pocket, looking quickly at the Caller I.D.  he then put the phone up to his ear.

            “John” he answered.

            _“Hi.  Look, get over here quickly.  I think I’m onto something.  You’ll need to pick up some stuff first.  You got a pen?”_ the angel asked over the phone.  Sherlock smiled.

            “I’ll remember” he replied.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Sometime later, Kenny was primping in front of the mirror near the fireplace.  Nearby, the entrance door shut and, on the sofa, John put down his teacup and started to get up.

            “That’ll be him” he called out.  Kenny raised an eyebrow.

            “What?” he replied as Raoul showed Sherlock into the room.  The demon had a large bag over his shoulder and was carrying a long narrow case which was presumably designed to hold a photographic tripod.  He then walked over to Kenny.

            “Ah, Mr. Prince, isn’t it?” he asked.  The Lamassu nodded.

            “Yes” he replied.

            “Very good to meet you” Sherlock stated.  Kenny nodded again.

            “Yes; thank you” he replied.  They then shook hands, Sherlock looking closely at Kenny’s hand as he did so.

            “So sorry to hear about—” he started.

            “Yes, yes, very kind” the Lamassu interrupted.

            “Shall we, er…” John started.  Sherlock looked over at him and nodded as he walked over to the sofa, put down the case and started rummaging in his bag while Kenny turned back to mirror and fiddled with his hair again.

            “You were right.  The bacteria got into her another way” John whispered to him.

            “Oh yes?” Sherlock replied, smirking.

            “Yes” John answered.

            “Right.  We all set?” Kenny asked, turning towards them.

            “Um, yes” John replied.  He then looked at Sherlock, who had taken a camera and flashgun from his bag, and jerked his head towards Kenny.

            “Can you…?” he started.  As Kenny leaned one arm on the mantelpiece and posed, Sherlock walked closer and started taking photographs of him.

            “Not too close.  I’m raw from crying” Kenny instructed, just as the cat meowed at Sherlock’s feet, making him look down.

            “Oh, who’s this?” he asked.

            “Sekhmet.  Named after the Egyptian goddess” Kenny replied.

            “How nice!  Was she Connie’s?” Sherlock asked.

            “Yes” the Lamassu answered.  John reached down towards the cat but Kenny beat him to it, bending down and picking it up. 

            “Little present from yours truly” he explained.  Frustrated, John straightened up, then looked at his partner.

            “Sherlock?  Uh, light reading?” he asked.  Sherlock blinked.

            “Oh, um…” he started as he lifted a second flashgun, which he was holding his other hand, and held it towards Kenny, firing it straight into his face.

            “Two-point-eight” he replied.  Kenny squinched his eyes shut against the light.

            “Bloody hell.  What do you think you’re playing at?!” the Lamassu exclaimed.  John immediately reached down and rubbed his fingers over one of the cat’s front paws while Sherlock kept firing the flashgun to keep Kenny’s eyes closed.

            “Sorry” the demon apologized.  John lifted his fingers away and sniffed them while Sherlock continued to fire the flashgun.

            “You’re like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two.  What’s going on?” Kenny demanded.

            “Actually, I think we’ve got what we came for.  Excuse us” John called out.

            “What?!” the Lamassu exclaimed.

            “Sherlock” John called.  The demon looked over at him.

            “Yes?” he replied.

            “We’ve got deadlines” John stated as he grabbed the case from the sofa and headed for the door.

            “But you’ve not taken anything!” Kenny exclaimed as Sherlock followed after John.  Ignoring him, the angel and demon hurried out of the living room and let themselves out of the house.  John chuckled delightedly as they walked down the drive and headed towards the main road.

            “Yes!  Ooh, yes!” he exclaimed.  Sherlock looked over at him and smiled fondly.

            “You think it was the cat.  It wasn’t the cat” he stated.  John looked back at him and shook his head.

            “Oh, I know it’s not the cat” he replied.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “You know it wasn’t the cat?” he repeated.  John nodded.

            “I may not be a detective, Sherlock, but I am observant.  Down at the morgue, I thought it was the cat the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it’s too random and too clever for the brother” he explained.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

            “Do you think he murdered his sister for money?” he asked.  John chuckled and shook his head.

            “No.  It was revenge” he replied.  Sherlock smirked and crossed his arms as he raised an eyebrow.

            “Oh?  Do tell, Doctor.  Who would want revenge?” he asked.  John smiled before he cleared his throat.

            “Raoul, the houseboy.  Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister’s jokes, week in, week out; a virtual bullying campaign.  Finally, he had enough; fell out with her badly.  It’s all on the website.  She threatened to disinherit Kenny.  Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle so…” he started.  Sherlock’s eyes widened.

            “What about the disinfectant then, on the cat’s claws?” he asked.  John smirked.

            “Raoul keeps a **very** clean house.  You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of the floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life.  We both smell of disinfectant now.  No, the cat doesn’t come into it.  Raoul’s internet records do, though” he concluded.  Sherlock stared at the angel for a moment before a large smile broke over his face.

            “Well, Doctor, I am…very surprised” he murmured.  John smiled brightly before he quickly wiped it off and lowered his head.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to steal your spotlight, it’s just that—” he started when Sherlock quickly bundled him in his arms and hushed him.

            “No, I’m not angry John, not angry at all.  I am proud, so very proud, of what you have just done.  Do you hear me?  I am so proud of you” Sherlock praised, squeezing the angel in his arms.  John leaned into the embrace and let out a little chuckle.

            “Did I really do that well?” he asked.  Sherlock nodded and pressed a kiss to the angel’s temple.

            “Of course you did.  I have never been more impressed in my life” he replied.  He then unwrapped his arms from around the angel and took his hand before he formed a portal and pulled them both through.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

That evening, at New Scotland Yard, Sherlock walked into the main office, brandishing a folder at Lestrade.

            “Raoul de Santos is your killer.  Kenny Prince’s houseboy.  Second autopsy shows it was tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin” he declared as he placed the folder on the desk.  As Lestrade reached for it, Sherlock leaned closer to him.

            “We’ve been here before.  Carl Powers?  Tut-tut.  Our bomber has repeated himself” he murmured.  Lestrade hummed as he walked towards his office, Sherlock and John following.

            “So, how’d he do it?” he asked.

            “Botox injection” John replied, remembering that he examined the tiny pinpricks in Connie’s forehead.  Lestrade looked over at him.

            “Botox?” he repeated.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Botox is a diluted form of botulinum.  Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections.  My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul’s internet purchases” he explained as he pointed to the folder.

            “He’s been bulk ordering Botox for months” John added.

            “Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose” Sherlock continued.

            “You sure about this?” Lestrade asked.  Sherlock nodded.

            “I’m sure” he replied.  Lestrade nodded in return.

            “Alright…my office” he ordered as he turned and began to walk towards his office.  Sherlock turned to follow when John reached out and grabbed his arm.

            “Sherlock…how long have you known?” he demanded, looking into the demon’s heterochromic eyes.

            “Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself.  That was a mistake” Sherlock explained.  He then turned and tried to walk away when John tightened his grip on his arm.

            “No, but Sher…the hostage…the old woman.  She’s been there all this time” he murmured.  Sherlock let out a soft sigh before he turned to face him.

            “I knew I could save her.  I also knew the bomber had given us twelve hours.  I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things.  Don’t you see?  We’re one up on him!” he whispered into John’s face.  He then gently removed his arm from John’s tight grip and took his hand as they both walked into Lestrade’s office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	53. Hero

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock was sitting at Lestrade’s desk where a laptop had been opened to _The Science of Deduction_ website.  John and Lestrade were standing on either side of him as he typed a message into the message box.

 

_Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox_

He sent the message and almost instantly, the pink phone on the desk beside the computer rang.  He picked it up and put it on speaker so that John and Lestrade could listen as well.

            “Hello?” he answered.

            _“Help me”_ the old woman cried in anguish.

            “Tell us where you are.  Address” Lestrade ordered clearly.

            _“He was so…his voice…”_ the old woman continued.

            “No, no, no, no.  Tell us nothing about him.  Nothing” Sherlock commanded urgently.

            _“He sounded so…soft”_ the old woman whispered.  As soon as she whispered that, the laser point from the sniper’s rifle moved to the bomb.  A single shot fired and the phone instantly went dead.  In Lestrade’s office, the three men were silent before Sherlock cleared his throat.

            “Hello?” he called out.

            “Sherlock?” Lestrade murmured.  The demon didn’t answer and instead turned off the phone and lowered his head, putting his face in his hand.  Lestrade stepped away from the demon, sighing heavily, while John reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock’s neck, giving it a gentle squeeze.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The next morning, in John’s flat, Sherlock and John were sitting in their armchairs watching the news on the TV.  Mycroft had returned Rosie last night, so John had her in his arms while Sherlock had the pink phone on the left arm of his chair.  On the TV, the picture showed a high-rise block of flats and the headline at the bottom of the screen read: “12 dead in gas explosion”.  The picture moved to a close-up, showing a corner of the building many floors up which had been torn open and exposed to the air.

            _“The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve…”_ the Newscaster reported.

            “Old block of flats” John mused, glancing over at Sherlock.

            _“…is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main.  A spokesman from the utilities company…”_ the Newscaster continued.

            “He certainly gets about” John murmured as he stroked Rosie’s back.

            “Well, obviously, I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case” Sherlock grumbled as he picked up the remote control and muted the volume.  Lowering his hand again, he looked thoughtfully into the distance.

            “He killed the old lady because she started to describe him” he mused.  He then shook his head.

            “Just once, he put himself in the firing line” he mumbled.  John looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “What d’you mean?” he asked.

            “Well, usually, he must stay above it all.  He organizes these things but no one ever has direct contact” Sherlock explained.

            “What…like the Connie Prince murder…he-he arranged that?  So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?” John asked, looking horrified as he clutched Rosie to his chest.

            “Novel” Sherlock murmured, his face full of admiration.  John looked at him in shock before he turned to look at the TV screen again, which had moved to a new story.

            “Huh” he breathed.  He then jerked a finger towards the screen and Sherlock looked up to see Raoul de Santos being bundled out of Kenny’s house by police officers.  The press were there and were shoving each other as they struggled to get close to Raoul and take photographs while interviewers shouted questions.  The headline on the screen read: “Connie Prince: man arrested”.  Raoul was shoved into the back of a police car as John looked over at Sherlock, who was looking down at the pink phone.

            “Taking his time this time” he mumbled.  John looked away, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  On the TV, the camera was focusing on Kenny, who was standing at the window of his house, holding Sekhmet in his arms, watching the chaos outside.

            “Anything on the Carl Powers case?” John asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Nothing.  All the living classmates check out spotless.  No connection” he replied. 

            “Maybe the killer was older than Carl?” John offered.  Sherlock hummed.

            “The thought had occurred” he answered.

            “So why’s he doing this then; playing this game with you?  D’you think he wants to be caught?” John asked as Rosie shifted in his arms so that she could get comfortable.  Sherlock pressed his fingertips together in front of his mouth and smiled slightly.

            “I think he wants to be distracted” he replied.  John looked at him before he laughed humorlessly and got out of his chair.

            “I hope you’ll be very happy together” he spat as he began to bounce on the balls of his feet, sending Rosie to dreamland.  Sherlock’s head snapped up at John’s tone and furrowed his brow.

            “Sorry, what?” he asked.  John stopped bouncing, furious, and turned to look at him.

            “There are lives at stake, Sherlock, actual human lives!  Just…just so I know, do you care about that at all?” he snapped.

            “Will caring about them help save them?” Sherlock replied irritably.

            “Nope” John snarled.

            “Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake” Sherlock replied.

            “And you find that easy, do you?” the angel growled.

            “Yes, very.  Is that news to you?” the demon snapped, standing to his feet.

            “No” John replied, smiling bitterly as he hugged Rosie to his chest.

            “No” he repeated as tears began to fill his eyes.  They then locked eyes for a moment and Sherlock frowned.

            “I’ve disappointed you” he noted.

            “That’s good – that’s a good deduction, yeah” John replied angrily as tears streamed down his face.  Sherlock stepped forward, only to have John take a step back.  The demon sighed.

            “Don’t make people into heroes, John.  Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them” he stated.  John sniffled and shook his head.

            “That’s bullshit, Sherlock, and you know it” he snapped.

            “What do you mean?  I am no hero” Sherlock argued.  John shook his head again and looked into the demon’s eyes.

            “You ARE a hero, Sherlock!  You’ve saved us more than I can count and you’ve saved all those people, save for maybe one person!  And if you take all of those away, you’re still Rosie’s hero!” he shouted.  Sherlock looked at him, shocked.

            “I am?” he whispered.  John nodded.

            “You’re her hero and you’re my hero” he whispered before he sniffled.  Sherlock blinked in shock before he stepped forward, pulling John and Rosie in for a hug, holding them tightly.  John rested his head on the demon’s chest and let out a content sigh, but the moment was ruined the minute the pink phone sounded a message alert.  Sherlock pulled away but before he picked up the phone, he wiped the tears from under John’s eyes with the pads of his thumb.  He then turned away and picked up the phone, activating it.  The phone sounded one short pip and the long tune as a photograph appeared, showing a river bank.

            “View of the Thames.  South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo” Sherlock mused.  He then looked over at John.

            “You check the papers; I’ll look online?” he offered.  The angel sighed before he handed Rosie over.

            “Fine” he grumbled.  Sherlock smiled and took Rosie as he walked over to the computer and pulled up Google.  He then began to type in the search bar as Rosie leaned against him, her head lolling to the side so she could rest her cheek on his chest.

 

**_Search:_ **

_Thames_

_\+ High Tide_

_\+ Riverside_

 

John then walked over to the sofa and sat down as Sherlock changed his search.

 

**_Local News_ **

_Greenwich_

_Waterloo_

_Battersea_

 

He then selected Waterloo as John tiredly sat down on the sofa and started going through the pile of newspapers on the coffee table.

            “Archway suicide” John called out, reading from the newspaper.

            “Ten a penny” Sherlock replied as he went back to the Local News option and selected “Battersea”.  The page showed “No new reports”.  He tried “Thames Police Reports” and started scrolling through the duty log.

            “Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington” John called out.  He then put that paper aside and looked at another one.

            “Ah…man found on the train line – Andrew West” he continued.  Sherlock looked exasperated when he found no helpful information in the reports.

            “Nothing!” he shouted, startling Rosie out of her nap.  He quickly looked down at her and began to stroke her tummy, hoping to get her to go back to sleep.  Once he saw that her eyes were slowly falling shut, he grabbed his phone and hit speed dial.  It rang and as soon as it was answered, he started talking.

            “It’s me.  Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	54. New Body

On the sound bank of the River Thames, the tide had receded to reveal the body of a large man wearing black trousers, a white shirt, black socks, and no shoes.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Later, while the police and forensic officers worked at the scene, John, Sherlock, and Rosie arrived.  Sherlock was pulling on a pair of latex gloves while Lestrade was waiting beside the body.

            “D’you reckon this is connected then?  The bomber?” Lestrade asked.

            “Must be.  Odd though…” Sherlock answered, pausing to hold up the pink phone.

            “…he hasn’t been in touch” he finished.  Lestrade crossed his arms.

            “But we must assume that some poor bugger’s primed to explode, yeah?” he asked.

            “Yes” Sherlock replied before he stepped back to take a long look at the man’s body, which was now lying on its back on a plastic sheet.

            “Any ideas?” Lestrade asked.

            “Seven…so far” Sherlock answered.  Lestrade’s eyes widened.

            “Seven?!” he exclaimed as Sherlock walked closer to the body and squatted down to examine the man’s face closely with his magnifier.  He then looked at the ripped pocket on the shirt before working his way downwards until he reached the man’s feet.  He pulled off one of the socks and examined the sole of the foot with his magnifier.  Standing up and closing the magnifier, he looked across at John and jerked his head down towards the body in a mute order to examine it.  John then looked enquiringly over at Lestrade for permission and the inspector replied with his hand out in a “be my guest” gesture.  John nodded before he handed Rosie over to him and squatted down beside the body, reaching out to take hold of the man’s wrist while Sherlock walked a few paces away and took out his phone.

            “He’s been dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer” John stated.  He then looked up at Lestrade.

            “Did he drown?” he asked.  Lestrade shook his head while Sherlock pulled up a search on his phone.

 

**_Interpol_ **

_Most Wanted_

_Criminal Organizations_

_Regional Activities_

 

            “Apparently not.  Not enough of the Thames in his lungs.  Asphyxiated” Lestrade replied as he rocked Rosie in his arms.

            “Yes, I’d agree” John hummed.  Sherlock looked up thoughtfully before he selected the latter option and watched as the screen changed.

 

**_Czech Republic_ **

_Gangs_

_Information_

_Most Wanted_

_Contact_

 

            “There’s quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth.  More bruises here and here” John continued, examining the body.  Sherlock then selected the “Most Wanted” option, then looked up as he mentally flashed back to looking at the small round read marks beside the man’s mouth and near his hairline.

            “Fingertips” he mused.  As John stood up, Sherlock shifted to a new search.

 

**_Missing Persons_ **

 

He then scrolled through his options.

 

_Last 36 hrs_

_Age_

_Location_

_Local Search_

 

            “In his late thirties, I’d say.  Not in the best condition” John murmured.

            “He’s been in the river a long while.  The water has destroyed most of the data” Sherlock added before he quirked a grin.

            “But I’ll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting’s a fake” he stated.  Lestrade’s eyes widened.

            “What?!” he exclaimed, making Rosie raise her head and blink sleepily.

            “We need to identify the corpse.  Find out about his friends and associates…” Sherlock continued.

            “Daddy” Rosie whined as she turned in Lestrade’s arms towards Sherlock.  The demon looked over at her and smiled as he walked over and plucked her out of the kitsune’s arms, holding her to his chest.  Once he had done that, Lestrade looked at him and placed his hands on his hips.

            “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait.  What painting?  What are you…what are you on about?” he demanded.  Sherlock turned to look at him as Rosie snuggled in his arms, making herself comfortable.

            “It’s all over the place.  Haven’t you seen the poster?  Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it’s turned up.  Worth thirty million pounds” he explained.  Lestrade rolled his eyes.

            “Okay.  So…what has that got to do with the stiff?” he demanded.  Sherlock grinned briefly.

            “Everything.  Have you ever heard of the Golem?” he asked as Rosie clutched at his purple scarf.

            “Golem?” Lestrade repeated.  John looked over at Sherlock.

            “It’s a horror story, isn’t it?  What are you saying?” he asked, crossing his arms.

            “Jewish folk story.  A gigantic man made of clay.  It’s also the name of an assassin – name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world” Sherlock explained as he pointed down to the body.

            “That is his trademark style” he stated.  Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

            “So, this is a hit” he asked.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Definitely.  The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands” he explained.  Lestrade shook his head.

            “But what had this gotta do with that painting?  I don’t see…he started.

            “You do see – you just don’t observe” Sherlock interrupted, exasperated.  John cleared his throat and crossed his arms as he glared at the two men.

            “Take it down a notch, both of you” he ordered before he turned to Sherlock.

            “Sherlock?  D’you wanna take us through it?” he asked, motioning to the body.  Sherlock took a moment before he stepped back and pointed to the body.

            “What do we know about this corpse?  The killer’s not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers.  They’re pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt – cheap.  They’re both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform.  Dressed for work, then.  What kind of work?  There’s a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie” he deduced.

            “Tube worker?” Lestrade asked, only for Sherlock to throw him a look that blatantly said “idiot”.  Lestrade growled at him and took a step forward but John put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

            “Lestrade, behave” he ordered before he looked at Sherlock.

            “Security guard?” he offered.  Sherlock nodded.

            “More likely.  That’ll be borne out of his backside” he replied.  Lestrade gawked at him.

            “Backside?!” he shouted.

            “Flabby.  You’d think that he’d led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise.  So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around.  Security guard’s looking good.  And the watch helps too.  The alarm shows he did regular night shifts” Sherlock explained, flashing back to when he pushed buttons on the man’s wristwatch, showing an alarm time of 2:30.

            “Why regular?  Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died” Lestrade offered.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched.  He set his alarm like that a long time ago.  His routine never varied.  But there’s something else.  The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely.  There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution” he continued.  He then shifted Rosie so that he was holding her with one arm as he reached into his coat pocket.

            “Found this inside his trouser pockets” he stated.  John and Lestrade both looked at it and found that he was holding a small scrunched-up ball of paper.

            “Sodden by the river but recognizably…” Sherlock started.

            “Tickets?” John finished.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Ticket stubs.  He worked in a museum or gallery.  Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing” he explained before he pointed down to the body.

            “Alex Woodbridge.  Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece.  Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant?  Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds.  The picture’s a fake” he declared.  John looked at him and smiled fondly.

            “Fantastic” he murmured admiringly.  Sherlock looked over at him and quirked a small smile while Lestrade groaned and threw his hands up in the air.

            “And a Happy New Year!” he exclaimed sarcastically.  John threw him a “seriously?!” look, making him grin sheepishly.  John then looked down at the body again and sighed, shaking his head.

            “Poor sod” he murmured.

            “I’d better get my feelers out for this Golem character” Lestrade grumbled.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Pointless.  You’ll never find him.  But I know a man who can” he replied.  Lestrade looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “Who?” he asked.  Sherlock grinned wickedly.

            “Me” he declared before he spun on his heels and walked away, holding Rosie tight in his arms.  John watched him leave before he sighed and shook his head, following after him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

As the boys sat in the back of a cab, Sherlock was looking at the pink phone in frustration while he held Rosie in his lap as John sat next to him.

            “Why hasn’t he phoned?  He’s broken his pattern.  Why?” he grumbled.  John shook his head.

            “I don’t know Sherlock” he replied tiredly as Rosie’s head lolled to one side on Sherlock’s lap.  She was tired and bored and she just wanted to go home.  Sherlock let out a huff of annoyance before a thought struck him and he leaned forward to the taxi driver.

            “Waterloo Bridge” he commanded.  John raised an eyebrow at him.

            “Where now?  The Gallery?” he asked.  Sherlock smirked.

            “In a bit” he replied.

            “The Hickman’s contemporary art, isn’t it?  Why have they got hold of an Old Master?” John asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “Dunno.  Dangerous to jump to conclusions.  Need data” he replied as he took his notebook from his pocket and wrote something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it.

            “Stop!” he called out to the driver as he put the page in his pocket.  The cab then pulled over to the side of the road.

            “You wait here.  I won’t be a moment” he told the driver before he got out, went to the railings at the edge of the pavement and easily vaulted over them, carrying Rosie in his arms.

            “Sherlock…” John called out as he got out of the cab as well.  The demon didn’t stop so he just let out an exasperated huff before he took a few steps back and ran forward, vaulting over the fence with ease.  He then quickly ran over to where Sherlock had trotted up some steps to where a young woman was sitting on a bench under Waterloo Bridge.  She had a large bag beside her with a hand written carboard sign poking out of the top.  The first two words on the sign said, “HUNGRY AND”.  Presumably the next word, obscured by some of her possessions, was “HOMELESS”.

            “Change?  Any change?” the girl asked.  Sherlock smirked.

            “What for?” he asked.

            “Cup of tea, of course” the girl replied.  Sherlock nodded, shifted Rosie in his arms, and handed her the paper with the bank note in it.

            “Here you go – fifty” he stated.  The girl smiled.

            “Thanks” she replied.  Sherlock then immediately turned and walked away again, making John look at him in bewilderment before turning and following, pointing back towards the girl.

            “What are you doing?” he demanded.

            “Investing” Sherlock replied calmly.  John looked back to where the girl was unfolding the note and reading it as Sherlock went to the railings and easily leapt over them again, still carrying Rosie.  He then opened the rear door of the cab before turning back to look at John.

            “Now we go to the Gallery.  Have you got any cash?” he asked.  John nodded before he ran and grabbed the railing of the fence, gate vaulting over it, landing next to the demon.  Sherlock looked at him with a surprised look on his face and John just laughed.

            “Are you really surprised that I can do that?” he asked.  Sherlock looked at him and shook his head.

            “No, no, I’m not” he replied with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	55. Have a Nice Day!

At the Hickman Gallery, the taxi pulled up and Sherlock stepped out, still carrying Rosie.  John made to follow when Sherlock turned towards him.

            “No.  I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant.  Lestrade will give you the address” he stated.  John nodded and held out his arms, silently ordering Sherlock to hand over their daughter.  Sherlock handed over the toddler and John closed the door before he gave the cab driver new instructions.  The demon then watched the cab leave and once it was out of his sight, he turned and walked towards the gallery.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At Alex Woodbridge’s home, a woman led John and Rosie into Alex’s tiny attic bedroom, which was messy with clothes scattered everywhere.  The window in the canted ceiling looked up into the sky and standing below it was a large object covered with a sheet.

            “We’d been sharing about a year.  Just sharing” the woman, Julie, explained.

            “Mmm” John hummed in reply as Julie stopped and gestured around the room.  John nodded his head in thanks before he walked in and looked around, not touching anything.  He then looked at the sheet-covered object and pointed to it.

            “May I?” he asked.  Julie nodded.

            “Yeah” he replied.  John tried to lift just the top of the sheet but instead it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.

            “Sorry” he apologized as he looked at the telescope on a tripod, which was underneath the sheet.

            “Stargazer, was he?” he asked gently.  Julie nodded.

            “God yeah.  Mad about it.  It’s all he ever did in his spare time” she replied with a sad smile before she sighed.

            “He was a nice guy, Alex.  I liked him” she murmured before she looked around the room.

            “He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering” she continued as she laughed nervously, making John smile at her.  As soon as she turned away, however, he pulled a face as he shifted Rosie in his arms.

            “What about art?  Did he know anything about that?” he asked.

            “It was just a job, you know?” Julie replied as she shook her head.

            “Hmm” John hummed as he bent down to peer at the items on the bedside table.

            “Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?” he asked as Rosie reached out to touch the items.  John quickly covered her hands with his and clucked his tongue at her.

            “No sweetie, don’t touch” he gently reminded.

            “No.  We had a break-in though” Julie answered.  John straightened up and turned to look at her.

            “Hmm?  When?” he asked.

            “Last night.  There was nothing taken.  Oh – there was a message left for Alex on the landline” Julie replied.

            “Who was it from?” John asked.

            “Well, I can play it for you if you like.  I’ll get the phone” Julie stated as she turned and walked to get the phone.  She then came back with the phone and played the message.

            _“Oh, should I speak now?  Alex?  Love, it’s Professor Cairns.  Listen, you were right.  You were bloody right!  Give us a call when—”_ a woman’s voice started when it suddenly cut off.

            “Professor Cairns?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “No, no idea, sorry” Julie replied, shaking her head.

            “Mm.  Can I try and ring back?” John asked, looking at her.  Julie shook her head again.

            “Well, no good.  I mean, I’ve had other calls since – sympathy ones, you know” she replied.  John nodded and Julie left the room again just as John’s phone trilled a text alert.  He shifted Rosie in his arms and pulled out the phone, looking at the message.

 

_Everything alright?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

John smiled and typed a quick response before he put his phone back in his pocket.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Meanwhile at the Hickman Gallery, an elegantly dressed woman walked into the large white-painted room which was displaying the Vermeer painting.  There was no other artwork or furniture of any kind in the room, but two rows of free-standing posts were roped together to form a path to the picture.  The woman stopped at the sight of a security guard in a black jacket and black cap standing in front of the painting with his back to her.

            “Don’t you have something to do?” the woman, Ms. Wenceslas, demanded.

            “Just admiring the view” the man, who was Sherlock in disguise, replied.

            “Yes.  Lovely.  Now get back to work.  We open tonight” Ms. Wenceslas snapped.  Sherlock looked over his shoulder then turned and walked towards her.

            “Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked.

            “What?” Ms. Wenceslas snapped.

            “That the painting’s a fake” Sherlock answered.

            “What?” Ms. Wenceslas replied angrily.

            “It’s a fake.  It has to be.  It’s the only possible explanation” Sherlock murmured as he took a step closer to her to look at her I.D. badge.

            “You’re in charge, aren’t you, Ms. Wenceslas?” he asked.

            “Who are you?” Ms. Wenceslas demanded.

            “Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him.  Was it you?” Sherlock interrupted, getting into her face and staring into her eyes.

            “Golem?  What the hell are you talking about?” Ms. Wenceslas growled.

            “Or are you working for someone else?  Did you fake it for them?” Sherlock interrogated.

            “It’s not a fake” the woman snapped.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “It is a fake.  Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it.  There has to be” he murmured.

            “What the hell are you on about?  You know, I could have you sacked on the spot” Ms. Wenceslas snarled.

            “Not a problem” Sherlock replied with a shrug.

            “No?” Ms. Wenceslas sneered.  Sherlock shook his head and smirked.

            “No.  I don’t work here, you see.  Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice” he explained.  Ms. Wenceslas narrowed her eyes.

            “How did you get in?” she demanded.

            “Please” Sherlock replied scornfully as he rolled his eyes.

            “I want to know” Ms. Wenceslas insisted.

            “The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight” Sherlock explained before he turned and began to walk away, taking off his cap.

            “Who are you?” Ms. Wenceslas demanded.

            “Sherlock Holmes” the demon called out as he continued to walk away, dropping the cap onto the top of one of the railing posts.

            “Am I supposed to be impressed?” Ms. Wenceslas called out.

            “You should be” Sherlock exclaimed.  Taking off the jacket, he looked around at her as he deliberately dropped it on the floor.  Reaching the doors, he flamboyantly shoved one open, almost dancing out of the room.

            “Have a nice day!” he shouted as he walked away.  As the door slowly and squeakily swung close, Ms. Wenceslas walked closer to the painting to take a look at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update in a while. I left my computer at my grandma's house for two days so I didn't have it to update the stories. Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe


	56. VAUXHALL ARCHES

At Andrew West’s house, John was sitting on the sofa with Rosie on his lap while Andrew West’s fiancée sat next to him.  He and Rosie had been there long enough for Andrew’s fiancée, Lucy, to have made herself and John mugs of tea that sat on the coffee table in front of them while Rosie held a small cup of milk in her hands.

            “He wouldn’t.  He just wouldn’t” Lucy sobbed.

            “Well, stranger things have happened” John murmured gently as he stroked Rosie’s side.

            “Westie wasn’t a traitor.  It’s a horrible thing to say!” Lucy exclaimed.

            “I’m sorry, but you must understand that—” John started.

            “That’s what they think, isn’t it?  His bosses?” Lucy demanded, interrupting him.  John nodded.

            “He was a young man, about to get married.  He had debts…” he started.

            “Everyone’s got debts.  Westie wouldn’t wanna clear them by selling out his country” Lucy interrupted again.

            “Can you, um, can you tell me exactly what happened that night?” John asked as he reached out and grabbed his mug, taking a sip.

            “We were having a night in, just watching a DVD” Lucy started, smiling at the memory.

            “He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one.  He was quiet” she continued as tears came to her eyes.

            “Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone” she finished.  John hugged Rosie closer to his chest as he looked at the young woman.

            “And you have no idea who?” he asked softly.  Shaking her head, Lucy began to cry.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

A little while later, Lucy opened the front door and showed John out, just as a cycle courier walked along the pavement towards the house, wheeling his pushbike.

            “Oh, hi Luce.  You okay love?” the man, Joe, asked.

            “Yeah” Lucy replied as the man looked over at John.

            “Who’s this?” he asked.

            “John Watson.  Hi” John introduced, holding out his hand while he held Rosie in one arm.  Joe shook his hand while Lucy looked at John.

            “John, this is my brother, Joe” she introduced before she turned to her brother.

            “John’s trying to find out what happened to Westie” she explained.  Joe looked John up and down as the angel shifted Rosie in his arms.

            “You with the police?” he asked.  John nodded slowly, swallowing.

            “Yeah, sort of” he replied.

            “Well, tell ‘em to get off their arses, will you?  It’s bloody ridiculous” Joe snapped.  John let out a nervous laugh.

            “I’ll do my best” he replied.  Nodding, Joe turned and put a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder for a moment before wheeling his bike inside the house.  John then cleared his throat and stepped closer to Lucy.

            “Well, thanks very much for your help.  And again, I’m very, very sorry” he murmured before he turned and began to walk away.

            “He didn’t steal those things, Mr. Watson” Lucy suddenly called out.  The angel stopped and turned towards her.

            “I knew Westie.  He was a good man” she stated, a look of strength on her face.  However, the façade quickly dropped and she began to sob.

            “He was my good man” she cried before she turned and went back indoors.  John looked at the closed doors before he sighed and turned, walking away.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

That night, John was in the back of a taxi heading along Baker Street while further along the road, the homeless girl from earlier was standing by the railings at the other side of Speedy’s, shaking a paper cup at people as they passed by.

            “Spare change?  Any spare change?” she called out.  As Sherlock stepped out of John’s flat, he stopped and looked down the road towards her just as the taxi pulled up, John getting out.  As soon as he got out, Sherlock walked over to him.

            “Alex Woodbridge didn’t know anything special about art” he stated as he handed Rosie over to the demon.

            “And?” Sherlock replied.

            “And…” John started as Sherlock looked towards the girl, beginning to walk towards her.

            “Is that it?  No habits, hobbies, personality?” he called out.  John shook his head and took a step forward.

            “No, give us a chance!  He was an amateur astronomer!” he exclaimed.  Sherlock stopped dead, turned, shifted Rosie in his arms, and pointed towards the taxi.

            “Hold that cab” he ordered.  John nodded and walked back to the taxi while Sherlock walked over to the girl.

            “Spare change, sir?” she asked.

            “Don’t mind if I do” Sherlock replied while John talked to the cabbie.

            “Can you wait here?” he asked the driver as Sherlock continued to talk to the girl.  The girl then handed Sherlock a piece of paper, which he unfolded to reveal the written words “VAUXHALL ARCHES”.  Smiling briefly, he turned and walked back to John.

            “Fortunately, I haven’t been idle” he crowed as he opened the door and got in, pressing Rosie to his chest.

            “Come on” he commanded.  John nodded and climbed in, just as the taxi took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next three updates are making up for not updating Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. So, here is Friday's update. Enjoy!


	57. The Golem

At Vauxhall, John and Sherlock got out of the cab and began walking along.  At one point, Sherlock handed Rosie over to John so he could button up his coat and once he did so, he took Rosie back and gazed up at the sky.

            “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked as he stroked his daughter’s hair.  John looked up and saw a beautiful starry night before glancing over at the demon.

            “I thought you didn’t care about things like that” he replied, a bit surprised.  Sherlock smiled slightly.

            “Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it” he stated as they walked into the Arches.

            “Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answering machine at his flat – a Professor Cairns?” John began.

            “This way” Sherlock ordered as they walked into a much sketchier part of London.

            “Nice part of town.  Er, any time you wanna explain” John suggested, noticing that Sherlock had tightened his arms around Rosie.

            “Homeless network – really is indispensable” Sherlock answered.

            “Homeless network?” John repeated as he formed a ball of fire in his palm and used it as a light.

            “My eyes and ears all over the city” Sherlock explained.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “Oh, that’s clever.  So you scratch their backs and—” he started.

            “Yes, then I disinfect myself” Sherlock finished as he and John, plus one toddler, continued into the darkness of the Arches.  John’s fire burned brightly in the dark, illuminating homeless people all around the place, most of them settling down for the night.  Suddenly, in the distance, the shadow of an incredibly tall man showed on a wall as he began to stand up.

            “Sherlock!” John exclaimed.

            “Come on!” Sherlock replied as they quickly ducked to the side of a wall while the man continued to straighten up for ages until he was over seven feet tall.

            “What’s he doing sleeping rough?” John whispered.

            “Well, he has a very distinctive look.  He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag – much” Sherlock whispered back as he peered around the corner, tightening his arms around Rosie, who clung to him in fear.  John looked down as he realized that he had come out without something essential.

            “Oh shi—” he started when Sherlock took his SIG-Sauer P226R gun from his coat pocket and handed it over to the angel.

            “You don’t honestly need this, but if you insist on having it…” he murmured.  John took the gun and held it as he looked over at Sherlock.

            “Thank you” he whispered, placing a kiss on the demon’s cheek.  Sherlock blushed, just as the man broke into a run and hurried away down another tunnel.  John and Sherlock chased across towards where the man was and reached the tunnel just in time to see him climbing into a waiting car, which immediately sped off.  Sherlock barred his teeth in frustration and growled angrily.

            “No, no, no, no!  It’ll take us weeks to find him again!” he shouted as Rosie buried her face in her coat.

            “Or not.  I have an idea where he might be going” John suggested, placing his gun in his jeans.  Sherlock looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “What?” he replied.

            “I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message.  There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book.  Come on” he ordered as he took off.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the planetarium, Professor Cairns was alone in the planetarium’s theatre.  As Gustav Holst’s “Mars” played over the sound system, she was standing at the mixing desk in front of a huge screen, watching footage of a film that was played for visitors.  Other than the light coming from the screen, the room as shrouded in darkness.

            _“Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system and the largest. Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it eleven times”_ the voice narrated. 

            “Yes, we know that” Cairns sighed, bored.  She then stopped the recording and fast-forwarded it for a moment before starting the playback again.

            _“Titan is the largest moon”_ the voice continued.

            “Come on, Neptune, where’re you hiding?” Cairns whispered as she fast-forwarded again.  Behind her, a hand pushed open the door to the theatre and a moment later, just as Cairns started the playback again, the door banged shut.

            _“Many are actually long dead…”_ the narrator continued.

            “Tom?  Is that you?” Cairns asked as she peered up at the projection room.

            _“... exploded into supernovas”_ the narrator continued.  Cairns then turned back to the desk as a long arm reached towards her from behind.

            _“... discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in 1846”_ the narrator continued as a tall figure stepped up behind Cairns and clamped one hand over her mouth and nose, pulling her backwards.

            “Oh my God!” Cairns exclaimed behind the hand.  She then clawed at the hand, crying out in a muffled panic as her other hand flailed out and dragged several of the sliders down the mixing desk.

            _“... composed mainly of hydrogen. Their light takes so long to reach us…”_ the narrator continued just as Sherlock and John raced into the theatre through another door.

            “Golem!” Sherlock shouted with his arms tightly wrapped around Rosie as John stopped and aimed his pistol towards the attacker.

 _“... many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas”_ the narrator finished.  The Golem looked up, grunted in surprise, then snapped Cairns’ neck, dropping her to the floor.  Her fingers dragged along the mixing desk, sending the footage into fast-forward again, plunging the theatre into darkness as Golem ducked down out of sight.

            “John!” Sherlock exclaimed as Rosie let out a little shriek.

            “I can’t see him.  I’ll go around.  I’ll go!” the angel shouted back.  As the footage continued spooling and then stopping and playing before spooling again, light came and went in the room.  Sherlock stared around as John hurried off, holding Rosie close and hushing her.

            “Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” he shouted.  Behind him, the Golem stepped out of the fluctuating darkness and clamped one hand around Sherlock’s mouth and nose, gripping his neck with the other.  Sherlock let out a shout of surprise as he was jerked backwards, forcing himself to release Rosie and drop her to the floor.  As she fell on the floor, Sherlock grabbed at the hand on his face, struggling to pull it free as he was slowly suffocated.  Rosie looked up from where she had landed and let out a little shriek.

            “Daddy!” she cried, reaching out for Sherlock.  Sherlock looked down at her and made a sharp shooing motion with his hand that silently ordered “hide”.  The toddler looked up at him with scared blue eyes before she quickly crawled and hid underneath one of the planetarium’s chairs, making herself small enough that the tall scary man hurting her daddy wouldn’t find her.  Just then, John raced over to them.

            “Golem!” he roared as he cocked the gun and pointed it at the Golem’s face, his hands and voice steady.

            “Let him go or I will kill you” he growled as fire began to surround his body.  Sherlock, whimpering in his efforts, continued trying to pull the man’s hand from his face.  The Golem swung him around to the left and lashed out with his long right leg during a moment of darkness, kicking the pistol from John’s hands.  Dropping Sherlock to the ground, he surged forward and began to wrestle with John.  As Sherlock got to his feet, the Golem shoved John into him, sending both men tumbling to the floor.  Rosie wanted to cry out but she was afraid that the tall man who was hurting her fathers would come after her and hurt her, so she decided to stay quiet.  Meanwhile, Sherlock quickly scrambled up to his feet and took up a boxing stance in front of him, holding up his clenched fists.  He then swung a punch at the man, but the Golem grabbed his hand and swung his other arm down heavily onto Sherlock’s shoulder, dropping him to the floor yet again.  The Golem then followed him down and clamped both hands over his face, leaning his weight onto them.  Behind him, John threw himself on his back, making Golem roar.  He quickly released Sherlock as he clawed at the hobbit on his back before standing up, John still clinging to his back, as he spun around several times before finally managing to shake the angel off onto the floor.  As John groggily tried to get up, Golem turned and picked Sherlock up, skimming him across the floor towards John.  Sliding across the floor, Sherlock grabbed the pistol that the Golem had kicked away and managed to pick it up as Golem ran for the doors.  He then rolled over onto his back and fired twice towards him but the Golem made it to the doors and disappeared through them.

            _“... long dead, exploded into supernovas”_ the narrator’s voice continued.  As the image of the supernova dramatically exploded on the screen behind him, Sherlock angrily slammed his hand down on the floor in front of him.

            “Damn it!” he shouted.  John was panting heavily not too far from him, trying to suck in deep breaths, when realization hit him and his head snapped up.

            “Rosie.  Rosie, Rosie, where’s Rosie?” he whispered, looking around in the dark.  He then looked over at Sherlock.

            “Sherlock, where’s Rosie?!” he exclaimed.  Sherlock’s head snapped up as well, eyes wide with fright.

            “I told her to hide…but I don’t know where she hid!” he shouted back.  John quickly pushed himself to his feet and formed a ball of fire in his palm, running over to where Sherlock was still on the floor.  He then held out a hand, dragging his partner to his feet before they began to run around the planetarium, looking for their daughter.

            “Rosie!” John shouted.

            “Rosie!” Sherlock called out.  The two men continued to run around until John stopped running and stood very still.

            “Sherlock” he whispered loudly.  The demon appeared at his side in a heartbeat.

            “What is it?” he whispered back.

            “Listen” John whispered.  The two supernatural beings remained quiet, standing still as rods until they finally heard soft whimpering coming from a row or two away from them.  They both took off to where they thought they heard the crying and quickly knelt, checking underneath every seat until Sherlock came upon the seat where Rosie was curled underneath, sobbing silently.  Sherlock’s heart broke as he quickly reached out, touching his daughter’s arm gently.  Rosie let out a bloodcurdling scream, making Sherlock pull his hand away.

            “Rosie, Rosie, shh, it’s just me, it’s just Daddy” he soothed.  Rosie sat up just enough to see Sherlock smiling fondly at her, holding out a large hand.  The toddler let out a whine before she quickly crawled out from underneath the chair and over to the demon, latching onto his hand.  Sherlock then pulled her into a hug, just as John ran over to them.

            “Sherlock, did you find h—” he started when he saw Sherlock on the floor of the planetarium, holding his daughter tightly in his arms.  John quickly put out the flame in his hand and fell to his knees, throwing his arms around Sherlock and his daughter, burying his face into Rosie’s neck.  The three stayed there like that, silent and grateful that none of them were hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Saturday's update. Enjoy!


	58. Another Countdown

The next morning in the Hickman Gallery, Sherlock was standing in front of the Vermeer painting, looking up information on his phone.  He called up subjects such as “Vermeer brush strokes”, “Pigment analysis”, “Canvas degradation”, “UV Light damage”, “Delft Skyline, 1600”, and “Vermeer influences”.  Behind him, John, with Rosie in his arms, Lestrade, and Ms. Wenceslas were watching.

            “It’s a fake.  It has to be” Sherlock growled.

            “That painting has been subjected to every test known to science” Ms. Wenceslas snapped.

            “It’s a very good fake, then” Sherlock sneered in reply.  He then spun around and glared at her.

            “You know about this, don’t you?  This is you, isn’t it?” he growled.  Ms. Wenceslas turned to Lestrade, looking exasperated.

            “Inspector, my time is being wasted.  Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?” she demanded when suddenly the pink phone rang.  Sherlock snatched it from his pocket and put it on speaker.

            “The painting is a fake” he declared.  There was a faint sound of breathing over the speaker, but otherwise, there was no response.

            “It’s a fake.  That’s why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed” Sherlock deduced.  Still, there was nothing but breathing.

            “Oh, come on.  Proving it’s just the detail.  The painting is a fake.  I’ve solved it.  I’ve figured it out.  It’s a fake!  That’s the answer.  That’s why they were killed” Sherlock exclaimed.  When the phone remained silent, the demon took a deep breath to calm himself.

            “Okay, I’ll prove it.  Give me time.  Will you give me time?” he asked.  After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy came over the phone’s speaker.

 _“Ten…”_ he started.  Instantly Sherlock spun and looked closely at the painting.

            “It’s a kid.  Oh, God, it’s a kid!” Lestrade exclaimed, horrified and shocked.

            “What did he say?” John demanded as he clutched Rosie tightly to his chest.

            “Ten” Sherlock replied.

 _“Nine”_ the boy continued.

            “It’s a countdown.  He’s giving me time” Sherlock stated as he narrowed his eyes, scanning every inch of the painting.

            “Jesus!” Lestrade shouted.

            “The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it.  How?  How?” Sherlock growled.

            _“Eight…”_ the boy continued.

            “This child will die.  Tell me why the painting’s a fake.  Tell me!” Sherlock roared as he turned and glared at Ms. Wenceslas.  Ms. Wenceslas flinched and opened her mouth but Sherlock immediately held up his hand to stop her.

 _“Seven…”_ the boy continued.

            “No, shut up.  Don’t say anything.  It only works if I figure it out” the demon snapped.  He then turned back to the painting again.  Unable to stand the tension, John turned and walked away a few paces, bouncing Rosie in his arms.  Lestrade turned and watched him, probably wanting to join in the pacing as well.

            “Must be possible.  Must be staring me in the face” Sherlock murmured to himself as he continued to scan the painting.

            _“Six…”_ the little boy continued.

            “Come on” John whispered urgently under his breath as he turned back.

            “Woodbridge knew, but how?” Sherlock grumbled.

            _“Five…”_ the boy continued.

            “It’s speeding up!” Lestrade exclaimed.

            “Sherlock!” John shouted urgently as he held Rosie tightly.  Sherlock’s gaze fell on three white dots of paint in the night sky and his mouth fell open as the penny finally dropped.

            “Oh!” he exclaimed.

            _“Four…”_ the boy continued.

            “In the planetarium!  You heard it too.  Oh, that’s brilliant!  That is gorgeous!” Sherlock exclaimed.  Turning and shoving the pink phone into John’s hands, he walked away from the painting, grinning as he pulled his own phone from his pocket.

            _“Three…”_ the boy continued.

            “What’s brilliant?  What is?” Lestrade demanded.  Sherlock rapidly typed “Astronomers” and “Supernovas” into his phone, then turned back and walked towards the others, laughing in delight.

            “This is beautiful.  I love this!” he giggled.

            _“Two…”_ the boy continued.

            “SHERLOCK!” John roared furiously.  The demon finally got out of his head and grabbed the phone from John’s hand.

            “The Van Buren Supernova!” he shouted into the phone.  There was a short pause, then the boy’s plaintive voice came from the speaker.

            _“Please…is somebody there?”_ he called out.  Sherlock, Lestrade, and John sighed out a relieved breath.

            _“Somebody help me!”_ the boy cried.

            “There you go.  Go find out where he is and pick him up” Sherlock ordered as he handed the pink phone to Lestrade.  He then turned to look at John, who was looking at him with a mixture of awe and terror, and smiled slightly before he turned back and pointed to one of the dots in the sky of the painting.

            “The Van Buren Supernova, so-called” he stated as he held up his phone over his shoulder so that Ms. Wenceslas could see the screen.

            “Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight” he explained as he turned and threw her a triumphant look before walking away as John sucked in a relieved breath.  He then walked closer to look at the painting as he stroked Rosie’s hair.

            “So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?” he asked before he grinned over his shoulder at Ms. Wenceslas before looking back at the picture again.  Just then, his phone trilled an alert.

 

_Everything alright?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

John looked at the text and quickly typed back.

 

_Nearly had a heart attack, but everything is fine_

 

Once he sent the text, he looked at the painting for the last time.

            “Oh Sherl…” he started before he switched off the phone and walked away as Ms. Wenceslas started at the painting in shock.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

At the New Scotland Yard, Sherlock and Ms. Wenceslas were sitting side by side in front of Lestrade’s desk while the inspector sat in a chair to the side of the desk, Sherlock’s hands in the prayer position under his chin.

            “You know, it’s interesting.  Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Ms. Wenceslas.  This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it.  Is that where this leads?” Sherlock asked.  Ms. Wenceslas looked down and didn’t answer.

            “What are we looking at, Inspector?” Sherlock continued, glancing up at Lestrade.

            “Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least.  The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats…” Lestrade replied thoughtfully.

            “I didn’t know anything about that!  All those things!  Please believe me” Ms. Wenceslas begged.  As she continued to stare at Lestrade, Sherlock gave him a tiny nod to confirm that she was telling the truth.

            “I just wanted my share – the thirty million” Ms. Wenceslas explained before she looked across at Sherlock, sighing and lowering her head again.

            “I found a little old man in Argentina.  Genius.  I mean, really: brushwork immaculate, could fool anyone” Ms. Wenceslas explained. Sherlock scoffed.

            “Well, nearly anyone” Ms. Wenceslas corrected, looking at him briefly.  She then looked back at Lestrade.

            “But I didn’t know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine.  It was just an idea – a spark which he blew into a flame’ she continued.

            “Who?” Sherlock demanded sharply.

            “I don’t know” Ms. Wenceslas replied, shaking her head.  Lestrade let out a disbelieving laugh.

            “It’s true!  I mean, it took a long time, but eventually I was put in touch with people…his people” Ms. Wenceslas explained.  Sherlock began to sit up in his chair, his expression becoming more concentrated.

            “Well, there was never any real contact; just messages…whispers” Ms. Wenceslas continued.  Sherlock leaned closer to her, his face intense.

            “And did those whispers have a name?” he hissed.  Ms. Wenceslas gazed ahead of herself for a moment, then looked across to Lestrade before nodding and turning her head to Sherlock.

            “Moriarty” she whispered, making Sherlock slowly sink back in his chair.  As Ms. Wenceslas looked anxiously at Lestrade again, Sherlock gazed into the distance, his eyes full of thought.  Eventually he raised his hands into the prayer position in front of his mouth, then grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is today's (Sunday) update. Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	59. Pool.  Midnight.

At Battersea, wearing a high-vis jacket over his coat, John was carrying Rosie as they walked along the railway lines with the Tube guard who found Andrew West’s body.

            “So this is where West was found?” John asked.

            “Yeah” the Tube guard replied.

            “Uh-huh” John mumbled.

            “You gonna be long?” the guard asked.  John hummed.

            “I might be” he replied as he hefted Rosie in his arms so that he could carry her easier.

            “You with the police then?” the guard asked.  John nodded.

            “Sort of” he replied.

            “I hate ‘em” the guard spat.  John raised an eyebrow.

            “The police?” he asked.  The guard shook his head.

            “No.  Jumpers.  People who chuck themselves in front of trains” he explained.  John nodded slowly as he stroked Rosie’s blonde hair.

            “Selfish bastards” the guard continued.

            “Well, that’s one way of looking at it” John replied with a slight chuckle.  He then squatted down to look more closely at the railway tracks.

            “I mean it.  It’s all right for them.  It’s over in a split second – strawberry jam all over the lines.  What about the drivers, hmm?  They’ve gotta live with it, haven’t they?” the guard continued.  John shifted Rosie to one arm while he reached out and ran his fingers along the tracks before lifting his hand to look at his fingers.

            “Yeah, speaking of strawberry jam, there’s no blood on the line” he stated as he stood up.

            “Has it been clean off?” he asked.  The guard shook his head.

            “No, there wasn’t that much” he replied.  John frowned.

            “You said his head was smashed in” he snapped.  The guard shrugged.

            “Well, it was, but there wasn’t much blood” he explained.  John pursed his lips before humming.

            “Okay” he replied before he turned and looked along the line thoughtfully.

            “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.  Just give us a shout when you’re off” the guard called before he walked away.  John walked a few yards further down the line before he squatted down again, shifting Rosie so that she could help him with his investigation.

            “Right: so, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere – or did he?  There’s no ticket on the body.  Then how did he end up there?” he asked, glancing down at Rosie.  Beside him, the points changed and a set of the tracks slid sideways into a new layout.  John hummed as he looked at the tracks thoughtfully.

            “Points” Sherlock called out from behind him.  John jumped and quickly stood to his feet, turning to see the demon standing before him.  Sherlock smirked.

            “Knew you’d get there eventually.  West wasn’t killed here; that’s why there was so little blood” he explained.  John narrowed his eyes at the demon.

            “How long have you been following me?” he demanded.

            “Since the start.  You don’t think I’d give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?” Sherlock replied as he reached forward and plucked Rosie from John’s arms, nuzzling her hair in greeting.  He then looked at John and smiled before he turned and walked away.

            “Come on.  Got a bit of burglary to do” he called out.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock and John were walking along a street.

            “The missile defense plans haven’t left the country, otherwise Mycroft’s people would have heard about it.  Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service” Sherlock murmured as he bounced Rosie in his arms, trying to get her to sleep.

            “Yeah, I know.  I’ve met them” John replied.  Sherlock hummed.

            “Which means whoever stole the memory stick can’t sell it or doesn’t know what to do with it.  My money’s on the latter.  We’re here” he stated suddenly.

            “Where?” John asked as Sherlock turned into the drive of a maisonette and trotted up the steps at the side of the building which lead to the front door of flat 21A on the first floor.  The demon then handed Rosie to John as he began to rummage in his pocket.

            “Sherlock!  What if there’s someone in?” John whispered urgently, pressing Rosie’s head against his shoulder.

            “There isn’t” Sherlock replied as he picked the lock and slipped inside.

            “Jesus!” John exclaimed softly as he quickly followed after the demon, who trotted up the short flight of stairs ahead of him and walked into the living room.

            “Where are we?” John demanded softly.

            “Oh, sorry, didn’t I say?  Joe Harrison’s flat” Sherlock replied.  John’s eyes widened before he frowned.

            “Joe…?” he started as Sherlock went straight over to the window and pulled back the net curtain.  He then grinned in satisfaction at the sight that greeted him outside.

            “Brother of West’s fiancée” he replied.  Outside the window was a one-story extension, the roof of which could be easily climbed onto from the window.  The extension went all the way to the bottom of the garden which ended in a wall, and directly on the other side of the wall was the railway line.

            “He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law” Sherlock deduced.  Dropping to his knees, he got out his magnifier and used it to slowly examine the edge of the window sill.  John walked across to him and both he and Rosie peered over his shoulder as the demon found some tiny flecks of blood on the white paint.

            “Then why’d he do it?” John asked, suddenly straightening up and turning at the sound of someone unlocking the front door.  Sherlock also stood, smirking.

            “Let’s ask him” he replied.  John nodded and formed a spear made of fire before he quietly walked to the door of the living room as the front door slammed.  He then stepped out onto the landing just as Joe, wearing his courier gear, was leaning his bicycle against the wall.  When he saw John, he picked up the bike as if he intended to use it as a weapon or simply throw it at him.  John pointed his flaming spear at him and snarled, clutching Rosie to his chest.

            “ **DON’T”** he commanded sternly.  For a moment, Joe kept coming but John shook his head and pointed the spear at his chest.

            **“DON’T”** he repeated as Rosie buried her face into her father’s chest.  Joe stopped and lowered the bike, sighing in a mixture of frustration and fear.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Shortly afterwards, Joe was sitting on the sofa while the boys stood nearby, this time Sherlock holding Rosie.

            “It wasn’t meant to—” Joe started, sounding very distressed.  Sherlock looked away, exasperated.

            “God” Joe moaned before he put his face in his hands.

            “What’s Lucy gonna say?  Jesus” he sighed as he sunk back into the couch.

            “Why did you kill him?” John asked, crossing his arms.

            “It was an accident” Joe pleaded.  Sherlock scoffed.

            “I swear it was” Joe exclaimed.

            “But stealing the plans for the missile defense program wasn’t an accident, was it?” Sherlock replied sternly.

            “I started dealing drugs.  I mean, the bike thing’s a great cover, right?  I dunno – I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth.  I owed people thousands – serious people.  Then at Westie’s engagement do, he starts talking about his job” Joe began.

            “I mean, usually he’s so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up.  He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret.  He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me.  You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not.  And there it was, and I thought…well, I thought it could be worth a fortune” he continued, flashing back to when he helped a very drunk Westie into his jacket and slipped the memory stick out of his shirt pocket while he was doing so.

            “It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered.  Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew” he continued, remembering as he let himself into his flat at night when West hurried up the steps and grabbed him.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

            _“I know you took it”_ West stated in the flashback.

            _“What are you doin’ ’ere?”_ Joe asked in the flashback.

            _“What have you done with it?”_ Westie demanded.

            _“What are you talking about?”_ Joe replied.

 _“What have you done with the plans?”_ Westie growled. 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

In the present, Joe looked up guilty at John.

            “What happened?” John asked calmly while Sherlock watched his interrogation with Rosie tucked underneath his chin.  Joe thought back to when he and West scuffled on the small landing outside the front door before he angrily shoved the man, who lost his footing and rolled down the steps, landing heavily on the ground.

            “I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late” Joe answered.  He then flashed back to himself hauling West’s limp body into the living room, his face full of anguish.

            “I just didn’t have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in ‘ere and I just sat in the dark, thinking” Joe continued.

            “When a neat little idea popped into your head” Sherlock sneered from behind John.  Joe flinched at the demon’s tone as he thought back to himself hauling West across to the window.  As he hauled him over, a train pulled up on the tracks outside, its brakes squealing noisily.  Shortly afterwards, he dragged West out the window and tugged him across the extension roof.  Pulling him over the top of the wall, he stepped across onto the roof of the train and dragged the body over, settling it into a position along the slightly curved roof so that it wouldn’t easily fall off.  He then stepped back onto the wall and the train sounded its horn before continuing down the track.

            “Carrying Andrew West way away from here.  His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn’t met a stretch of track that curved” Sherlock stated as he nuzzled Rosie’s sleepy head.  Joe nodded, flashing back to watching the train rocket through the area that hew as recently investigating.  The combination of the curve and the jolting of the train as it passed over the points threw West’s body off the roof and onto the trackside.

            “And points” John declared.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Exactly” he replied.  John then looked down at Joe.

            “D’you still have it, then?  The memory stick?” he asked.  Joe nodded.

            “Fetch it for me – if you wouldn’t mind” Sherlock ordered.  Sighing unhappily, Joe stood up and walked into another room.  Once he had left, Sherlock walked over to John.

            “Distraction over, the game continues” he murmured quietly.

            “Well, maybe that’s over, too.  We’ve heard nothing from the bomber” John replied, just as softly.

            “Five pips, remember, John? It’s a countdown. We’ve only had four” Sherlock murmured.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

That night, in John’s flat, Sherlock, John, and Rosie were in their coats because the windows still hadn’t been replaced.  Sherlock was sitting in his armchair with Rosie on his lap with his feet up on the seat and his arms folded tightly around the both of them, trying to conserve heat while the pink phone was on the arm of his chair.  Across from them, John was sitting in his own chair, reading a book.  The TV was on and a Jerry Springer/Jeremy Kyle-type show was playing.  As the audience booed noisily, Sherlock yelled indignantly at the telly while Rosie squealed with glee.

            “No, no, no!  Of course he’s not the boy’s father!  Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!” Sherlock shouted as he gestured at the screen while Rosie clapped her hands, smiling brightly.  Sighing, he folded his arms again around his daughter, kissing her on the back of her head.  John, who had looked round to see what Sherlock was protesting about, went back to reading.

            “Knew it was dangerous” he murmured.

            “Hmm?” Sherlock replied.

            “Getting you into crap telly” John elaborated.  Sherlock huffed.

            “Hmm.  Not a patch on Connie Prince” he stated.

            “Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?” John asked.  Sherlock nodded.

            “Yep.  He was over the moon.  Threatened me with a knighthood – again” he grumbled.  John chuckled.

            “Knighthood?” he repeated.  Sherlock nodded and rested his chin on his daughter’s head.

            “Dreadful…knighthood” he spat, as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth.  John just chuckled once more before he stood up.

            “I’m going to get some milk, alright?  We’re out and we need it for Rosie’s breakfast and for our tea.  Want anything else?” he asked.  Sherlock shook his head and John sighed.

            “I’ll be back” he stated before he turned and walked away.  Sherlock continued to gaze at the TV until he heard the door open and shut.  He then picked up his computer from where it was tucked down beside him and placed it on Rosie’s lap, opening the lid.  He stared at the message box on The Science of Deduction website before he started to type.

 

_Found.  The Bruce-Partington plans.  Please collect._

He lifted his eyes in thought for a moment, then quirked a small smile before returning to his typing.

 

_The Pool.  Midnight._

He sent the message, then closed the lid, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates for this story are so spaced out. I've got other stories that I'm working on and I sometimes forget to update this one. But I hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	60. My name is Death...

Later on that evening, after Sherlock had put Rosie to bed, he transported himself to an indoor swimming pool. He then pushed open the door leading into the area surrounding the pool and he noticed that the lights were on, but there was nobody visible in the area.  Somewhere between Baker Street and the pool, he had taken off his coat and was just wearing his suit, so presumably the heating was on as well.  He walked slowly towards the shallow end of the pool, very aware that the upper gallery where people sat and watched the swimmers was still in darkness.  He stopped at the edge of the pool and turns, trying to see up into the viewing gallery.  Finally, he turned towards the pool again, raising his hand with the memory stick in it.

            “Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present.  Oh, that’s what it’s all been for, hasn’t it?  All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this” he loudly called out.  He then gestured with the memory stick before beginning to turn in a slow circle as he waited for a response.  When his back was turned to the pool, halfway down the room, a door opened.  Sherlock looked over his shoulder, still holding the memory stick aloft, as John Watson walked through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snuggly in a hooded jacket with his hands tucked into the pockets.  He turned and looked over at Sherlock as the demon stared back at him in absolute shock.

            “Evening” the angel greeted.  Sherlock’s raised hand slowly began to lower but otherwise, he didn’t move, still staring over his shoulder in utter disbelief.

            “This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?” John asked.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “John.  What the hell—” he whispered softly, completely shocked.

            “Bet you never saw this coming” John stated.  Finally, Sherlock managed to move and slowly started to walk towards the man he had believed to be his friend until now.  The shock and bewilderment on his face made him look at least twelve years old.  Then, with a look of despair that matched Sherlock’s, John took his hands out of his pockets and pulled open his jacket to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest.  From somewhere in the upper gallery, a sniper’s laser immediately began to dance around over the bomb.

            “What…would you like me…to make him say…next?” John asked slowly, repeating someone else’s words.  Sherlock continued to walk towards him but now he was looking everywhere but at John as he tried to see who else was in the area.

            “Gottle o’ geer ... gottle o’ geer ... gottle o’ geer” John garbled, narrating words spoken into an earpiece.

            “Stop it” Sherlock ordered, voice trembling slightly.

            “Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died.  I stopped him” John narrated before he tried not to cringe at the next words.

            “I can stop John Watson too” he continued as he looked down at the laser point on his chest.

            “Stop his heart” he finished.

            “Who are you?” Sherlock demanded, turning on the spot while he tried to look in all directions.

            “I gave you my number” a soft Irish male voice called out from a door at the far end of the pool.

            “I thought you might call” the voice continued plaintively.  Sherlock turned towards the new arrival, who now slowly stepped out into the open.  It was Jim, Molly’s boyfriend, but this wasn’t the fumble-fingered casually-dressed Londoner who did indeed leave his number for Sherlock in the lab at St. Bart’s; this was a sharply-dressed man with immaculate hair and a murderous look on his face.  With his hands in his pockets, he casually began to stroll alongside the deep end of the pool, heading towards Sherlock and John.

            “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket –” Jim started as Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pistol.

            “—or are you just pleased to see me?” Jim finished.

            “Both” Sherlock growled as he raised the pistol and aimed it towards Jim.  Jim stopped and looked back at him, unafraid.

            “Jim Moriarty, at your service.  You can call me Jim, if you like, but I think you know me by a much older, deeper, name” he purred as black mist began to rise out of the ground and curl around his feet like a cat.  Sherlock and John’s eyes widened.

            “Death” Sherlock breathed.  Jim chuckled and nodded.

            “Very good, Sherlock” he praised, just as the sniper’s laser flickered over John’s upper chest.  Sherlock briefly turned his head towards John, a questioning look on his face.

            “Don’t be silly.  Someone else is holding the rifle.  I don’t like getting my hands dirty” Jim, or should I say, Death stated as he began to walk again, black mist trailing behind him.

            “I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world.  I’m a specialist, you see—” he started before he paused, a look of surprise on his face as if he had only just realized the connection.

            “—like you!” he exclaimed.

            _“Dear Jim.  Please will you fix it for me to get ride of my lover’s nasty sister?”_ Sherlock quoted, causing Jim to grin.

            _“Dear Jim.  Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?”_ the demon continued.

            “Just so” Death replied.

            “Consulting criminal…brilliant” Sherlock praised softly.

            “Isn’t it?  No one ever gets to me…and no one ever will” Death crowd, smiling proudly. 

            “I did” Sherlock growled, cocking the pistol.  Death chuckled.

            “You’ve come the closest.  Now…you’re just in my way” he sneered.

            “Thank you” Sherlock thanked.  Death shook his head.

            “Didn’t mean it as a compliment” he snapped.

            “Yes, you did” Sherlock countered.  Death shrugged.

            “Yeah, okay, I did.  But the flirting’s over, Sherlock—” he started as his voice became high-pitched and sing-song.

            “Daddy’s had enough now!” he exclaimed before he cleared his throat.

            “I’ve shown you what I can do.  I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play” he stated, his voice normal once more.  John was starting to feel the strain and closed his eyes briefly, making Sherlock’s eyes flicker across to him a couple of times as he tried to keep his focus on the man approaching them.

            “So take this as a friendly warning, my dear.  Back off” Death growled before he smiled.

            “Although I have loved this…this little game of ours” he purred.

            “Playing Jim from I.T” he stated, putting on his London accent for a moment.

            “Playing gay.  Did you like the little touch with the underwear?” he asked, switching back to his Irish accent.

            “People have died” Sherlock snapped.

            “That’s what people **DO**!” Death screamed, black mist shooting out around him like wild tendrils.

            “I will stop you” Sherlock declared softly.  Death shook his head.

            “No, you won’t” he purred as he reigned in his tendrils, calming himself.  Sherlock then looked over at John.

            “You alright?” he asked.  John deliberately kept his gaze away from his friend, presumably having been given instructions earlier about not talking to him.  Death then walked forward again and reached the angel’s side.

            “You can talk, Johnny-boy.  Go ahead” he commanded.  Refusing to specifically obey Death’s orders, John met Sherlock’s eyes and nodded once.  Sherlock took hand off the pistol and held out the memory stick towards Death.

            “Take it.  And let my husband go” he ordered.  Both Death and John’s eyes widened at the statement before Jim strolled past John and reached out for the stuck, grinning.

            “The missile plans!” he exclaimed as he took the stick from Sherlock’s fingers and brought it to his mouth, kissing it.  Behind him, John was silently murmuring to himself, perhaps trying to keep himself focused, perhaps winding himself up to take action.  Death then lowered the memory stick and looked at it.

            _“Boring”_ he sang.

            “I could have gotten them anywhere” he stated as he shook his head and nonchalantly tossed the stick into the pool.  Seeing his opportunity, John raced forward and slammed himself up against Death’s back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest.  Sherlock backed up a step in surprise but kept the pistol raised and aimed at Death.

            “Sherlock, run!” John ordered.

            “Good!  Very good” Death giggled in delight.  Sherlock didn’t move, still aiming his gun at Death’s head but now started to look up a little anxiously, as if wondering what action the hidden sniper might take.

            “If your sniper pulls that trigger, Death, then we both go up” John snarled savagely.

            “Isn’t he sweet?  I can see why you like having him around.  But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets” Death purred as he looked at Sherlock.  Grimacing angrily, John pulled Death even closer to the bomb that was now sandwiched between them.  Death scowled round at him.

            “They’re so touchingly loyal.  But, oops!” he exclaimed, grinning briefly at John before looking towards Sherlock.

            “You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson” he purred before chuckling as a new laser point appeared in the middle of Sherlock’s forehead.  John stared in horror as Death looked round at him expectantly.  Sherlock, either seeing the edge of the laser beam shining from the gallery or realizing what was happening from John’s expression, shook his head slightly.

 _“Gotcha!”_ Death sang before he chuckled as John released him from his grip and stepped back, holding his hands up to signal to the sniper that he wouldn’t be trying anything else.  Death glanced round at him before turning back to Sherlock, brushing his hands down his suit to straighten it before gesturing to it indignantly.

            “Westwood!” he exclaimed before lowering his hands and standing calmly in front of Sherlock, who was still aiming the pistol at his head.

            “D’you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock?  Do you?” he asked.

            “Oh, let me guess: I get killed?” Sherlock replied, sounding bored.

            “Kill you?” Death exclaimed, grimacing.

            “N-no, don’t be obvious.  I mean, I’m gonna kill you anyway some day.  I don’t wanna rush it, though.  I’m saving it up for something special.  No-no-no-no-no.  If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you” he stated as his eyes began to glow with fire.

            **“I’ll burn the heart out of you”** he snarled.

            “I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one” Sherlock replied softly.  Death chuckled for probably the thousandth time and shook his head.

            “Oh Sherlock, we both know that’s a lie” he whispered before he looked down, smiling, then shrugged.

            “Well, so nice to have had a proper chat” he stated as Sherlock raised the pistol higher and extended it closer to Death’s head.

            “What if I was to shoot you now…right now?” he asked.

            “Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face” Death replied, sounding unperturbed.  He then opened his mouth and eyes wide, mimicking surprise, before grinning at Sherlock.

            “Cause I’d be surprised, Sherlock; really I would” he stated before he screwed up his nose.

            “And just a teensy bit disappointed.  And of course you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long” he added as he slowly began to turn away.

            “Ciao, Sherlock Holmes” he called out.  Looking back at Sherlock with some distaste, he walked calmly towards the side door through where John came earlier, black mist still swirling around his feet.  Sherlock slowly stepped forward to keep him in his sights.

            “Catch…you…later” he replied.

 _“No you won’t!”_ Death’s voice sang from the door before it closed.  Sherlock didn’t move for a few seconds, his gun still aimed at the door, before his gaze drifted across to John and instantly bent, putting the pistol on the floor before walking over to John and dropping to his knees before him, starting to unfasten the vest to which the bomb was attached.

            “Alright?” he demanded.  John let out a little whimper, making Sherlock look up in fear.

            “Are you alright?” he demanded, this time sounding more worried.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine” John replied.  Having unfastened the vest, Sherlock jumped up and hurried around John, starting to pull off the jacket and the bomb vest.

            “Sherlock…” John started.  Sherlock, also breathing too fast, continued tugging at the jacket and vest.

            “Sherlock…” John tried again.  Finally, Sherlock managed to roughly strip the jacket and vest off John’s arms.

            “Sherlock!” John exclaimed as Sherlock skimmed the items as far away along the floor as he could while John staggered at the vehemence with which the demon just ripped them off him.

            “Jesus” he whispered before he reached up and pulled the earpiece from his ear, breathing heavily as delayed shock began to hit him.  Sherlock turned and stared at him for a moment before hurrying back to pick up the pistol and race through the door through which Death had exited.  Once he was gone, John’s knees buckled and he staggered towards the nearest support: the edge of one of the changing cubicles.

            “Christ” he whispered as he turned and dropped down into a squat, bracing his back against the cubicle’s edge as he blew out a long breath, trying to calm himself down as Sherlock came back in, having apparently seen no sign of Moriarty outside.  The demon then quickly walked over to where John was crouched and dropped in front of him, grabbing his face in his hands.

            “Are you alright?” he whispered.  John looked into the demon’s heterochromic eyes and nodded slightly.

            “Y-yeah” he replied breathlessly.  Sherlock let out a relieved little sigh.

            “Good” he whispered before he pulled John in for a searing kiss.  John’s eyes widened in shock before he quickly closed his eyes and threw his arms around Sherlock’s neck, the two just holding and kissing each other like they hadn’t just nearly died back there.  Once they pulled apart, the beam from a sniper’s laser began to dance over John’s chest, making the angel look down at it, his face filling with horror.

            “Oh…” he whispered, anguished.  Meanwhile, a door near the deep end of the pool opened and Jim came through, clapping his hands together as he turned to face the demon and angel.

            “Sorry boys!  I’m sooooo changeable!” Death called out.  John grimaced in disbelief.  Sherlock slowly stood up and kept his back to Death, looking up into the gallery to try and judge how many snipers there might be up there.  It was becoming clear that there were quite a few because there were at least two laser points hovering over John, and at least three more travelling over his body.  Death laughed and spread his arms wide.

            “It’s a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness” he exclaimed as the black mist swirled around him.  He then lowered his hands and put them in his pockets as Sherlock turned his head to look down at John, who lifted his own head to meet his gaze.

            “You can’t be allowed to continue.  You just can’t.  I would try to convince you but…everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!” Death crowed.  Sherlock, who had looked away from John for a moment, now turned and looked down at him again, his face showing no emotion but his eyes screaming a silent request.  John responded instantly with a tiny nod, giving him full permission to do whatever he deemed necessary.

            “Probably my answer has crossed yours” Sherlock replied as he looked up at Death before raising the pistol and aiming at him, who smiled confidently with no fear in his expression.  Slowly, Sherlock lowered the pistol downwards until it was pointing directly at the bomb jacket.  All three sets of eyes locked onto the jacket: John breathing heavily, Sherlock calm.  Death tilted his head, looking a little anxious for the first time.  As Sherlock held his hand steady, continuing to aim towards the jacket, Death lifted his head and locked eyes with him.  Sherlock gazed back at him and Death began to smile.

            “Oh Mr. Holmes, trying to be so noble…it’s quite admirable of you, but really, would you want to blow all of us up when another life is on the line?” he asked.  Sherlock and John’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

            “What do you mean _another life on the line_?” Sherlock demanded.  Death chuckled darkly as he snapped his fingers, making Rosie appear in his arms.

            “Remember what I said about you not having a heart?” Death purred as Rosie struggled in his arms.  John let out a horrified gasp while Sherlock said nothing, his eyes were just wide with horror.

            “What would happen if you decided to blow up the bomb, Mr. Holmes?  Not only would you and Dr. Watson die, but your daughter would die too…and that would be absolutely tragic” Death sneered.  Just then, the doors to the pool burst open and Mycroft and Lestrade ran in, gun and sword out and ready to use.

            “Oh?  More company?” Death asked, smiling with glee as he turned to look and see who joined the party.

            “Rosie!” Mycroft exclaimed as he laid eyes on his niece.  Death chuckled and grabbed Rosie by the neck of her outfit, holding her above the deep end of the pool.

            “I know she can’t swim, Sherlock…so what would happen if I just decided to “accidentally” drop her in?  Would you still blow up the bomb to kill me or would you drop everything to save her?” he asked, giving the demon an ultimatum.  While Death was focused on Sherlock, Lestrade attempted to take a step forward to try and save Rosie when Death suddenly released his hold on the little girl, who let out a fearful scream, dropping her a few inches toward the water before he quickly grabbed her.

            **“Stay where you are, Detective, or the child drowns”** Death snarled.  Lestrade quickly stepped back into line next to Mycroft as Death turned to face Sherlock again.

            “So what will it be, Sherlock?  Blow us all up or let me go and save your family?” the ancient being asked.  While Sherlock was stuck with the ultimatum, John remembered something from his past when he was in the military, so he slowly stood to his feet and walked carefully until he was standing in front of Sherlock, shielding him with his body.

            “Joh?  John, what are you—” Sherlock started when a ring of fire suddenly erupted around the angel.

 

_Oh Death_

_Oh Death_

_Oh Death_

_Won’t you spare me over another year_

Death suddenly froze and looked at the angel with wide eyes.

 **“What are you doing?”** he shrieked.  John didn’t reply and just continued to chant, eyes rooted on the floor.

 

_But what is this, that I can’t see_

_With ice cold hands taking hold of me_

The angel then smirked and looked up at Death, who looked back at him with an open mouth.

 

_When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,_

_Who will have mercy on your soul?_

Death let out a panicked shriek and clutched at his chest as the black mist began to draw towards John, who slowly held his arms out.

 

 

_Oh Death_

_Oh Death_

_Oh Death_

_Oh Death_

            **“No, no, what are you doing to me?!”** Death screeched as more of his being began to move away from him and over towards John, who seemed to be absorbing the ancient being’s, well, being.

 

_No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold_

_Nothing satisfies me but your soul_

Death let out another pained screech and fell to his knees, more of his soul being sucked out of him and absorbed into John.

 

_Oh Death_

Death snarled weakly as he continued to hold onto Rosie while clutching at his chest with his other hand.  John then raised his arms high, almost as if he was summoning something.

 

_Well I am Death, none can excel_

_I’ll open the door to Heaven or Hell_

Death’s eyes widened as he felt a large chunk of his soul being ripped from his body and watched as it floated over and absorbed into John’s body.

            **“NO!”** Death shrieked.  John chuckled darkly.

 

_Oh Death_

_Oh Death_

Death let out another loud and pained scream as more of his soul was ripped from his body.  His head then lolled forward in agony and when he slowly looked up, he saw that John’s body was surrounded by black tendrils while his head was bowed and his arms were still outstretched.  The angel then slowly raised his head and smiled darkly at Death, fire burning in his eyes as the black tendrils grew larger and stronger.

 

**_My name is Death and the end is near…_ **

****

With that last line, Death felt his vessel crack and break and when he looked down, he saw a bright light burning from his chest.  He then looked up at John and snarled weakly.

            **“No…no, I will not be defeated by some lowly angel!”** he roared as he threw out a hand, striking John in the chest, extremely close to his heart, with one of his black tendrils.  Once he had exerted the last of his energy, Death let out a loud and pained moan before he exploded in a flash of bright light, blinding everyone who did not cover their eyes.  He also dropped Rosie, who fell into the pool with a terrified scream.  Lestrade’s eyes widened and he quickly shifted into his kitsune form, racing towards the deep end before diving in, quickly grabbing the little girl by the scruff of her t-shirt, dragging her to safety.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

While Lestrade and Mycroft were dealing with Rosie, Sherlock was just staring at John with something close to horror in his eyes, since he watched as the black tendril from Death pierced the angel’s chest.

            “John?” he called out softly.  The angel slowly lowered his arms and turned in his burning circle, smiling tiredly at Sherlock.

            “Yes?” he replied softly.  Sherlock looked at him with concern and took a step forward. 

            “Are…are you alright?” he whispered.  Before John could answer, he felt his knees give out and he collapsed to the ground as he felt blood pooling from the wound that Death left.

            “John!” Sherlock shouted, rushing forward to catch the angel before he fell and hit his head on the pool floor.  He then cradled the angel to his chest as he heard Mycroft and Lestrade run over.

            “Stay with me.  Please, please John.  Stay” Sherlock begged as he cradled the angel closer to him.  He then looked down and saw how the blood was spreading dangerously over the angel’s clothes, soaking them through.  He looked at the blood before he let out a sob and looked up at his brother and Lestrade, who had Rosie in his arms, her face turned away from the scene.

            “Mycroft…please…” Sherlock begged.  Mycroft looked down at his little brother and his teary heterochromic eyes and sighed before he snapped his fingers, transporting them all out of the pool, leaving nothing but a ripple of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite chapter to write. Like, ever. I hope you guys really like this chapter too. Please don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	61. Angel of Death

At Sherlock’s request, Mycroft returned to John’s flat and Sherlock quickly ran to John’s bedroom, gently placing the dying angel on the sheets.  He then knelt next to the bed and placed both of his hands gently over the wound and squeezed his eyes shut.

            “Please John, stay with me” he begged as he pushed his powers into the wound, willing it to heal.  While he was focusing on John, Mycroft and Lestrade were dealing with Rosie in her bedroom, who was whimpering and trembling after almost being drowned in the deep end of the pool.

            “Shh, it’s alright sweetheart, you’re safe” Lestrade cooed as he held the girl close to his chest, wrapping her in the fluffiest blanket that she owned.  He then looked up at Mycroft, piercing eyes full of fear.

            “Mycroft…I know you hate doing this but…we _have_ to wipe her memory.  She cannot remember what happened to her or she’ll be traumatized for life” he whispered, trying not to startle the little girl who was slowly beginning to fall asleep in his arms.  Mycroft sighed deeply before he placed his large hand on Rosie’s small head and shut his eyes.  Within a moment, Lestrade felt Rosie physically relax in his arms and he knew the elder demon had done what he had requested.

            “Thank you” he whispered before he kissed the top of Rosie’s head and turned towards her crib, walking over and placing her inside.  He then tucked her in before turning to see Mycroft leaning against the doorframe, smiling softly.  Lestrade then let out a shuddered breath before he walked towards the elder demon and stood before him, both men looking at one another before Lestrade took a step forward and crumpled into the demon’s arms, breathing in the man’s scent as he wrapped his own arms around Mycroft’s waist.  Mycroft smiled and tightened his arms around Lestrade, pressing his lips into the kitsune’s silver-grey hair, breathing in his partner’s scent.  The two men continued to hold each other before Lestrade sighed.

            “We should check on Sherlock” he whispered.  Mycroft nodded and unwrapped his arms from around him as Lestrade did the same.  The two supernatural beings then walked into John’s bedroom, only to find Sherlock panting heavily over the angel’s body.  Mycroft’s eyes widened.

            “Sherlock!” he exclaimed, running over to his little brother, who looked up tiredly at him and smiled.

            “He’s safe…I s-saved him…he’ll l-live Mycroft…he’s going to l-live…I hope” he panted.  Mycroft looked at him in shock before a small smile graced his face and he leaned over, kissing Sherlock’s hair before he stood up and walked over to Lestrade, who was leaning against the doorframe.

            “We’ll be sleeping out in the living room…call us if you need anything” Lestrade called out as he and Mycroft exited the room, closing the door behind them.  Now, it was just Sherlock sitting alone in the bedroom while John breathed softly in the dark.  The demon then turned to look at the sleeping angel and smiled softly as he reached out and ran his fingers through John’s silver-blond hair.  As he ran his fingers through John’s hair, he looked at John’s sleeping form that was illuminated by the moonlight and tears began to form in his eyes.

            “John, please….I can’t…I cannot lose you” he whispered.  When John didn’t even stir at his voice, he looked up towards Heaven and let out a choked sob.  He let out a few more sobs before he shook his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling.

 _“Fool…crying like a baby…what’s gotten into you?”_ he scolded himself before he looked down at John’s pale, barely breathing body.

            _‘This…the thought of losing this man has gotten to me…’_ he thought back as he reached out and took John’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together before he lifted John’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it before rubbing it with his thumb.

            I will not allow you to leave me…I won’t let you slip away” he growled softly, looking down at the angel.  He then sucked in a deep breath and let it out, still holding onto John’s hand as tears began to fall from his eyes and he willed them to stop, but they just would not stop falling.  He let out a small sob and let go of John’s hand before he wrapped his arms carefully around the angel’s weak body and held him close.

            “John…John please” he begged.  John didn’t stir, since he was so weak, but Sherlock did feel the angel lean into the hug, which made him smile.

            “Hold on John…I’m right here” he assured as he gently placed John back down onto the bed, caressing his cheek and smiling as John unconsciously leaned into his touch.  Sherlock then leaned down and kissed John’s forehead before he rested his own forehead against the angel’s.

            “I’m right here…I’m right here” he promised, letting his eyes slip shut.  Just then, John’s breathing suddenly stopped, making Sherlock quickly pull away and look down at him in shock.

            “John?  John!  John, no,no, come on John, please don’t go to sleep” he begged as he cradled John to his chest and buried his face into the angel’s neck.

            “Don’t let go little one” he whispered before he let out a sob and hugged John closer, placing a hand on the angel’s chest so that he could feel his heart.  It was still beating, but it was very, very slow.

            “Don’t let go” he pleaded as he continued to keep his hand on John’s chest, keeping an eye on the heartbeat, but it was slowing significantly until each beat was almost a minute or two apart.  Sherlock shook his head and hugged John even harder.  No, he couldn’t lose him, he just couldn’t.

            “John…please” he begged, his face still buried in John’s neck.

            “Think about Rosie…think about me” he whispered as he felt the heartbeat under his hand.  John didn’t respond and Sherlock stayed silent as he felt the angel’s heartbeat slow until…his heart stopped.  Sherlock’s eyes went so wide that someone would have thought that they would have popped out of his head as he removed his face from John’s neck and removed his hand from John’s heart and clutched at his limp body, shaking him slightly.

            “John!” he shouted.  John didn’t respond.

            “John” Sherlock shouted again.  Again, John was silent.  Sherlock bit his lip, trying to keep back his tears and pain, but after everything, he just didn’t give a fuck anymore.  He let out a ragged howl and hugged John tightly.

            “JOHN!” he cried, but it was too late.  John Watson was gone and he wasn’t coming back.  As Sherlock sobbed, howled, and raged, he didn’t hear his brother or Lestrade come in.

            “Sherlock!” Mycroft exclaimed, stepping into the room with Lestrade not too far behind.

            **“GET OUT!”** Sherlock shouted, turning to look over his shoulder at his brother and Lestrade, his eyes blacker than the blackest night.  Mycroft and Lestrade halted in their steps and looked at Sherlock in shock as he turned back to look down at John, whom he had cradled in his arms.

            **“Leave me…”** he commanded as tears dripped onto John’s face.

            “Sherlock…” Lestrade started when Sherlock quickly stood to his feet, still cradling John in his arms.

            **“I SAID LEAVE ME!”** he roared as his large, black leathery wings shot out of his back and grew to almost twice their size.  Lestrade and Mycroft shrunk back from Sherlock’s rage before they looked at each other with sadness in their eyes and silently left the room, leaving Sherlock panting heavily.  Once he was sure that his older brother and the Detective Inspector were gone, he slowly turned back to the bed and knelt down, placing John gently back onto the sheets.  He then reached out and caressed the angel’s face as a single tear streamed down his cheek.

            “John…” he whimpered before he drew his hand away from the angel’s face and placed it in his lap as he hung his head, silently sobbing at John’s bedside.  All was silent for a moment before John’s eyes suddenly flew open and he shot up into a sitting position, gasping for air.  Sherlock’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide with shock.

            “John?” he whispered.  John breathed in a deep breath before he turned to look at Sherlock, who was staring at him as if he saw a ghost.

            “Sherlock…” John breathed but before he could even continue, Sherlock launched himself at the angel and hugged him tightly.

            “You’re alive” he breathed.  John blinked in surprise before he let out a little laugh.  Sherlock pulled away and glared at him with teary eyes.

            “How can you laugh?!  I thought you had died!” he shouted.  John let out another little laugh before he smiled fondly at Sherlock.

            “I did…but then I didn’t” he replied.  Sherlock blinked as he frowned.

            “What?” he asked, not quite understanding what John was insinuating.  John smiled.

            “When I casted that incantation, I basically absorbed Moriarty’s soul and…became Death” he explained, motioning to his body.  Sherlock looked him up and down before tilting his head to the side in confusion.

            “You…became Death?” he repeated.  John nodded before he chuckled.

            “I suppose you could call me the Angel of Death” he joked.  Sherlock blinked a few times before a grin began to spread over his face.

            “Angel of Death?” he repeated, grinning cheshirely.  John nodded and slipped out of bed, moving to stand in the middle of the room.

            “Whenever you absorb someone’s soul, especially if they are another supernatural being, you gain their powers.  So…” he started before he raised his arms, black shadows trimmed with fire rising from the ground like tendrils.  Sherlock looked at him and the tendrils in awe before he let out a gleeful laugh.

            “Fantastic…Brilliant…Wonderful” he praised.  John blushed at the praise as he lowered his hands, making the shadows disappear, before he looked up at the demon.

            “Um…Sherlock…” he started.  The demon raised an eyebrow as he walked forward until he was standing before the angel.

            “Yes John?” he replied, looming slightly over him.  John glanced up at him before he looked down at his feet, feeling slightly embarrassed.

            “When…when you called me your husband by the pool…d-did you mean it?” he asked.  Sherlock’s eyes widened before a fond smile spread across his face and he took John’s hand in his.

            “Of course I did” he replied softly.  John shook his head, still not looking at the demon.

            “But…we’re not married, so we couldn’t be…” he started when Sherlock suddenly got down on one knee, still holding his hand.  His eyes widened in shock and he looked into Sherlock heterochromic eyes, tears filling his own.

            “Sherlock” he breathed.  Sherlock smiled fondly up at him.

            “Would you like to be?” he asked softly.  John bit his bottom lip from crying as he nodded.  Sherlock smiled and held up his palm as he formed a ring made of sulfur and ash, slipping it onto John’s left ring finger.  He then stood to his feet and pulled John in for a hug, pressing his lips to the angel’s hair.  John buried his face into Sherlock’s chest and let out a joyful sob as he clenched the back of the demon’s shirt in his hands.

            “S-Sherlock?” John asked.

            “Hmm?” the demon hummed in reply.

            “I love you” John murmured.  Sherlock’s eyes widened before he hugged the angel tighter and let out a content sigh.

            “I love you too” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this story! Please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	62. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROSIE!

After they hugged for a good while, Sherlock pulled away and motioned to the door.

            “We…should probably tell them that you’re alive” he murmured.  John chuckled and nodded.

            “Yeah, probably” he agreed.  Sherlock smiled slightly as he took John’s hand in his and laced their fingers together as they walked out of the room and into the living room where Mycroft and Lestrade were pacing around like two nervous dads in a delivery room.

            “Mycroft” Sherlock called out softly, gaining his brother and the Detective Inspector’s attention.  The two men looked up and when they saw John, they reacted in very different ways.  Lestrade looked as if he had just seen a ghost while Mycroft remained rooted in his spot, eyes wide in shock.

            “Mr. Watson, you’re…alive” he breathed, almost in disbelief.  John let out a little chuckle and nodded.

            “I am” he agreed.  Lestrade shook his head.

            “But we swore you died!” he exclaimed.  John shook his head as he rose his hand, black shadow-like-tendrils rising form the ground.  Mycroft and Lestrade’s eyes widened in shock, making John chuckle.

            “What the bloody hell?!” Lestrade shouted.  John smiled slightly and leaned against Sherlock as the demon wrapped an arm around his waist.

            “I guess you can just call me the “Angel of Death”” he teased.  Mycroft let out a small gasp.

            “You absorbed Moriarty’s soul, didn’t you?  With that incantation” he murmured.  John nodded.

            “Yeah…it was something that I learned from another soldier, who was a witch doctor.  He said that if you recite the incantation before any enemy, you will absorb their soul and if they are a supernatural being, you will absorb their powers as well.  So, in a sense, you will have your own powers plus whoever’s powers you just absorbed” he explained.  Mycroft blinked before he let out a soft laugh.

            “You are a strange, strange little man” he murmured.  Lestrade looked over at him before he looked back at John and Sherlock.

            “I…I think I need to lie down” he muttered before he shifted into a large kitsune and padded over to John and Sherlock’s couch and climbed up onto it, placing his head down on one of the pillows.  Mycroft looked over at him and chuckled before he walked over to the couch and sat down next to him.

            “I’m sure you won’t mind if we stay overnight, do you John?” he asked, looking at the angel.  John smiled and shook his head.

            “No, you and Lestrade are always welcome” he replied before he blinked tiredly.  Sherlock looked down at his fiancé and smiled fondly.

            “Come on John, you’ve had a very _exciting_ day…it’s time for us to get some sleep” he murmured as he gently guided John back to the master bedroom and over to the bed.  The two then climbed into bed and enveloped one another in each other’s arms.  They were almost asleep when John’s eyes suddenly flew open.

            “Oh no” he breathed.  Sherlock hummed and cracked open a sleepy eye.

            “Hmm?  John?  What’s wrong?” he murmured.  John groaned and shook his head.

            “I almost completely forgot that tomorrow is Rosie’s birthday!  What kind of father forgets their own daughter’s birthday?!” he exclaimed softly.  Sherlock looked at him for a moment before he let out a sleepy chuckle.

            “A father who has just come back from the dead” he replied as he pulled John towards him and rested his chin on the angel’s head.

            “Sleep, little one.  All will be well in the morning” he soothed before he fell into a deep slumber.  John furrowed his brows and wanted to protest, but as he listened to Sherlock’s deep and soothing breathing, he couldn’t help but grow sleepy himself, so he too shut his eyes and drifted off into slumber.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The next morning, after John and Sherlock told Mycroft and Lestrade about their little predicament, the elder demon and kitsune were off.  They headed to the supermarket to buy a birthday cake large enough to feed around six people, since they weren’t going to forget about Molly, because that would just be rude.  While they were out getting the cake, Sherlock and John oversaw decorations.

            “No death, no murder, no nothing” John ordered, glaring at Sherlock.  The demon gave him a look and he gave it right back.

            “No Sherlock.  When Rosie is ready for death and murder, we will allow her to help at the crime scenes, but for now, keep her out of it” he ordered.  Sherlock pouted.

            “But we’ve taken her to so many already” he whined.  John crossed his arms.

            “Yeah, and how many of the villains used her as leverage against us?” he snapped.  At that question, Sherlock’s face fell and he became very silent.  John blinked in surprise at the suddenly change before he bit his bottom lip and looked up at Sherlock.

            “Sherlock, look, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to snap at you, it’s just that—” he started when Sherlock held up a hand and shook his head.

            “No, don’t John.  I forgot that our daughter is still a little girl and is not ready to be exposed to that kind of thing…forgive me” he whispered.  John smiled fondly and stepped forward, placing a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

            “Of course.  Now come on, help me figure out what kind of decorations Rosie would like for her party” he instructed with a smile.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After an hour of shouting, arguing, cruel words, and soft whispers of forgiveness, Sherlock and John finally decided on a compromise: neutral colors for John and little critters such as otters and hedgehogs for Sherlock.  Once they had decided on the theme, they quickly set up the dining room so that it was ready for six people, just in time for Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly to arrive.  Mycroft and Lestrade walked inside, carrying a large white paper bag between them while Molly walked in behind them carrying a handful of beautiful balloons.

            “Molly!  You came!  And you bright the balloons!” John greeted as he walked over to the unicorn and gave her a big hug.  Molly chuckled as they pulled away from the hug.

            “Of course I came!  I wouldn’t want to miss little Rosie’s birthday party!  And what is a party without balloons?” she giggled as she handed the balloons over to John.  She then walked over to where Sherlock was fixing the decorations and began to help him.  John watched his fiancé and the unicorn work together to make his daughter’s birthday party the best party she had ever had.  Speaking of his daughter, he placed the balloons around the table, making sure that their placement was perfect before he walked into Rosie’s bedroom and over to her crib, where she was lightly dozing; he could tell by how her eyes moved underneath her eyelids.

            “Rosie, Rosie, it’s time to wake up” he murmured softly as he gently rubbed her belly.  Rosie let out a little whine before she opened her eyes and blinked blearily.  John smiled down at her and Rosie gave her a bright smile back.  The angel then chuckled as he reached down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms.

            “Come sweetheart, everyone’s waiting for you” he murmured as they walked out into the dining room, where Molly, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Lestrade were standing, giant smiles on their faces.

            “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROSIE!” they all exclaimed.  Rosie’s face lit up and she broke out into a fit of giggles, clapping her hands with joy that all her favorite people were in the room, celebrating something with her.  Mycroft and Lestrade then walked into the kitchen and came back out, carrying the large cake that was decorate in what looked like a triple homicide with the _‘Happy Birthday Rosie’_ spelled in the victim’s “blood”.  John looked at Sherlock with murder in his eyes and before the demon could say anything, Mycroft and Lestrade laughed.

            “Don’t kill him, John, we were the ones who asked for the cake to be designed this way” Mycroft stated, speaking on behalf of his brother.  John looked over at him and Lestrade before sighing.

            “This cake better taste good” he grumbled.  Lestrade chuckled.

            “Oh, don’t worry, it’s to die for” he teased.  This time, Sherlock, Mycroft, and John all looked at him as if they wanted to murder him, which made the kitsune laugh even harder and this time even Molly joined in, which soon had the five adults in stitches while Rosie just looked at them as if they were all crazy.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After they had eaten cake, opened presents, cleaned up, and said goodbye to one another, Sherlock and John were left alone with a very happy, yet very tired, toddler.  They smiled at one another as they walked into Rosie’s room and placed her down in her crib, tucking her in.  Once she was nice and cozy, Sherlock looked over at John.

            “John, isn’t it true that children of the supernatural show their supernatural ability when they turn three?” he asked.  John glanced over at him and nodded.

            “Yeah, that’s right” he replied.  Sherlock hummed and looked down at his daughter.

            “I wonder what our daughter will be” he murmured.  John shrugged and he too looked down at his daughter.  As the moon filtered into the room and shone over Rosie’s sleeping form, Sherlock and John watched as one black leather wing and one wing made of fire sprouted from her back.  John gasped.

            “A Nephilim?” he whispered, looking over at Sherlock.  Sherlock said nothing as his large black wings sprouted out of his back, surrounding both John and Rosie.

            “It seems to be” he replied before he looked over at John and his eyes widened.

            “John…your wings!” he exclaimed.  John looked back at him and raised an eyebrow.

            “What wings?” he asked.  Sherlock then reached out and stroked the air behind John’s back, making the angel moan with sudden pleasure.

            “Those wings” Sherlock replied softly, gently running his fingers through the soft feathers.

            “W-What do they look like?” John panted, gripping Rosie’s crib so that he didn’t fall to his knees as pleasure continued to course through his body.  Sherlock smiled.

            “Rippling rivers of red dancing across shades of auburn, gold, red, tangerine, and warm yellow, like a warm and crackling fire” he complimented.  John hummed as Sherlock continued to run his fingers through the wings before he pulled his hand away, allowing John to breathe.

            “They’re beautiful” Sherlock whispered as he turned to face his fiancé.  John blushed before he reached out and stroked Sherlock’s cheek.

            “But not as beautiful as you” he replied before he leaned forward and went up on his tiptoes to kiss the demon on the mouth.  Sherlock smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around the angel’s waist, pulling him close.  When they pulled away and rested their foreheads against one another’s, John smiled and sighed contentedly.

            “I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes” he whispered.  Sherlock chuckled and pecked John’s nose.

            “And I love you, John Hamish Watson” he purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, a chapter that's not filled with angst! It's been a while since we had a good fluff chapter, don't you agree? Hope you guys are enjoying this story and please continue to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


	63. A Wedding to Remember

After almost a year of being engaged, raising a child together, and solving cases together, Sherlock Holmes decided that he wanted a proper wedding.  However, instead of consulting John about his decision, he decided to go to Mycroft, Molly, and Lestrade instead.  When he told them about his idea, they were ecstatic.

            “It’s about bloody time!” Molly exclaimed, crossing her arms.  Lestrade smirked.

            “Are you ready to become a married man?” he asked.  Sherlock sighed.

            “I don’t know…I never thought I would get this far” he murmured.  Mycroft smiled.

            “Well, I am proud of you for deciding to take the leap and do this” he praised.  Sherlock gave a weak smile back before he sighed again.

            “I want to keep this from John for as long as possible” he explained.  Molly raised an eyebrow.

            “But why?  Shouldn’t John know that you want to get married?  What if he doesn’t want to get married and just wants to stay how things are now?” she asked.  Mycroft gave her a look.

            “Then why would he say “yes” to Sherlock’s engagement if he didn’t want to get married?” he replied.  Molly shrugged.

            “You know these two!  They never do anything by the damn book!” she exclaimed.  Lestrade groaned before he looked over at Sherlock, who was looking a little pissed that they were talking about him as if he wasn’t even in the room.

            “Look, Sherlock, if you want to keep the whole bloody thing a secret, we can keep a damn secret, can’t we?” he asked, looking over at Mycroft and Molly with a glint in his eye.  Mycroft and Molly nodded immediately.  Lestrade smiled before looking back at Sherlock.

            “There.  Now, what kind of wedding were you thinking of having?” he asked.  Sherlock ran a hand through his curly hair.

            “I don’t quite know…I know I want small and simple, since John isn’t very big on flamboyancy.  I also want it where Rosie can participate in the ceremony, somehow” he replied.

            “That’s very sweet of you, Sherlock.  Where do you want this wedding to be held?” Molly asked, taking a seat on the couch.  Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and sat down in his armchair.

            “I don’t know…that’s the problem.  I know what I want, but I don’t know how to go about getting what I want” he sighed.  Mycroft hummed as he leaned on his umbrella and Lestrade leaned against the doorframe of the living room.

            “Well…why don’t we just take care of this whole wedding dilemma and give you some breathing room” Molly offered.  Sherlock looked at her with wide eyes and when she smiled in return, being completely genuine, he smiled gratefully.

            “You would really do that?” he asked, shocked.  Molly nodded.

            “However, you might want to inform John about wanting to have a wedding.  You don’t have to tell him that you’re having one, but at least see if he’s up to the idea of having a wedding or getting married.  It would be awkward to go through all of the planning and have everything, just for him to see it and say no” Lestrade stated from the doorway.  Sherlock looked over at him and nodded.

            “You’re right Detective…that would probably be wise” he murmured.  Lestrade nodded, a small smirk on his face.

            “I am usually right, most of the time” he replied.  Mycroft shot him a look before he chuckled.

            “Well, now that we have all of that sorted out, we will start calling caterers and designers and venues where people normally have weddings.  And you will talk to John about this when he wakes up” he ordered, not giving Sherlock much room for argument.  Sherlock nodded and before the three supernatural beings left, he held up a hand to stop them.

            “Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, looking at the demon with a raised eyebrow.

            “Thank you.  For this.  For all of this and everything else that you have done for John and me” he thanked.  Molly, Mycroft, and Lestrade stood there in the living room for a second, stunned, before they smiled and nodded.

            “You’re welcome” Molly replied cheerfully.

            “Anytime” Lestrade stated.

            “Of course, brother mine” Mycroft murmured before he threw open a swirling black portal.  The three of them then stepped forward and disappeared, leaving Sherlock alone in a very quiet house.  He stood in the middle of the living room, listening to the sounds of silence, before he quietly padded over to his and John’s bedroom, opening the door quietly.  He watched the angel snore softly from the bed, a fond smile on his face, before he walked over to him and laid down in front of him, reaching out and cupping his face gently with his hand.  John let out a little huff before he opened his eyes and blearily blinked at Sherlock.

            “Good morning” Sherlock greeted softly.  John smiled sleepily.

            “Morning” he replied.  Sherlock then cleared his throat.

            “John…you want to get married, right?” he asked.  John blinked before his brows furrowed.

            “Of course…why are you asking?” he replied.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “I just…needed to know” he replied softly.  John was awake in a second, reaching up and placing his hand on top of Sherlock’s hand, which had still not moved.

            “Sherlock, what happened?  What’s going on?” he demanded softly.  Sherlock smiled weakly.

            “Would you get mad at me if I told you that I discussed having a wedding with Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly this morning?” he asked.  John was silent for a moment before he shut his eyes and shook his head.

            “Of course you did.  But, why didn’t you come and ask me first?” he asked, sounding hurt.  Sherlock looked down, a little embarrassed.

            “Because I wasn’t sure if you would actually WANT to marry me” he admitted, removing his hand from John’s face.  John looked at him in shock before he moved his hand and cupped Sherlock’s face this time.

            “Sherlock, why would you think that?” he exclaimed softly.  Sherlock shook his head.

            “I don’t know…I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you and I just…I don’t want you to regret your decision” he murmured.  John shook his head this time.

            “For someone who claims he’s smarter than the entire population of the world, you can be really stupid sometimes” he murmured with a smile.  Sherlock looked at him in confusion.

            “What do you mean?” he asked.  John groaned and rolled his eyes.

            “What I mean is that if I had regretted my decision, I would have pushed you away months ago.  Sherlock, we’re engaged.  I’m pretty sure I’m not regretting my decision if I’ve got this on my finger” he stated, holding up his hand to show Sherlock the ring he had made.  Sherlock was quiet for a moment before his eyes widened.

            “Oh” he replied quietly.  John rolled his eyes again as he chuckled.

            “Yeah, oh, you prat.  I love you and yes, I want to marry you” he declared.  Sherlock let out a breathe he hadn’t realized he had been holding in and smiled.

            “Oh, thank God” he whispered.  John just let out a snort as he removed his hand from Sherlock’s face and sat up in bed.

            “Come on, get up.  We’ve been lying here for a little too long and I think Rosie is going to throw a fit if we don’t wake her up soon and cook breakfast” he stated.  Sherlock smiled and pushed himself up from the bed, walking over to John as he stood up from the bed as well.  The two smiled at one another before Sherlock leaned down at placed a soft kiss on John’s lips, smiling into it.  John smiled into the kiss as well before he pulled away.

            “Come on, breakfast” he ordered, taking Sherlock’s arm as he led him out of the room.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After the conversation, Sherlock summoned Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly and told them that John indeed want to have a wedding.  When they were told the news, Molly clapped her hands in glee.

            “Yay!  Oh, this is so exciting!” she squealed.  Lestrade then looked over at John.

            “You have any idea where you want to have the wedding at?” he asked.  John shook his head.

            “I don’t care.  Just somewhere simple and where Rosie can be a part of it” he replied.  Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly looked at one another before they chuckled.  John frowned at them.

            “What’s so funny?” he demanded.  The three supernatural beings shook their heads.

            “No, it’s just that—” Molly started.

            “That’s exactly what Sherlock said” Mycroft interrupted.  John raised an eyebrow before he looked over at his fiancé.

            “Is that right?” he asked with a fond smile.  Sherlock nodded, a small blush on his face.  John chuckled before he looked back at Mycroft, Lestrade and Molly.

            “I just want something simple.  Nothing too fancy” he stated.  Molly nodded.

            “Alright, I’ll start working on the venue and getting Rosie into a beautiful little flower girl gown” she declared before she turned to Lestrade.

            “Work on catering, flower arrangements, anything else that is required in a wedding” she ordered before turning to Mycroft.

            “Take these two to the finest tailor in London and get them the best suits.  I don’t care how much it costs, I want them to look dashing and dapper.  Got it?” she stated.  Mycroft nodded.

            “Understood” he replied.  Molly nodded before she walked over to Rosie, who was eating her breakfast.

            “Come on, Rosie.  Auntie Molly is gonna take you dress shopping.  Won’t that be fun?” she asked.  Rosie looked up at her and nodded.

            “I want purple dress” she declared as Molly took her breakfast bowl and put it in the sink.  Molly paused and looked back at her.

            “What was that?” she asked.  Rosie looked at her with serious blue eyes.

            “I want purple dress” she repeated.  Molly blinked before she smiled.

            “Of course sweetie, we’ll make sure you have a beautiful purple dress” she assured as she helped the little girl out of her high chair and carried her out of the room.

            “We’re going dress shopping” she declared as she walked towards the door.  As she opened it, she looked over at Lestrade.

            “Make sure there’s purple in the design.  Rosie’s wearing a purple dress” she stated before she stepped out and shut the door behind her.  Lestrade blinked he looked over at Mycroft, John, and Sherlock.

            “Well, I must be off.  Got some decorating to take care of” he declared as he walked over the door and stepped out.  Once he was gone, Mycroft looked over at John and Sherlock.

            “Come on.  It’s time for you two to get fitted” he declared as he threw open a portal and motioned for the two men to step inside.  John and Sherlock looked at one another before they sighed and stepped through the portal, Mycroft following behind.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After almost two hours of trying on different suits of all different sizes and styles, Mycroft finally just decided to have two custom suits made in simple black, because he knew that would look good on both men.  He then sent them home to relax before meeting up with Lestrade and Molly to finalize the wedding.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

That evening, in a small park underneath a gazebo, John and Sherlock stood before Mycroft as Molly stood on John’s side as his best woman while Lestrade stood on Sherlock’s side of the altar as his best man.

            “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God to join together these men in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in Paradise, and into which holy estate these two people present come now to be joined.  Therefore, if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak now, or else hereafter forever hold his peace” Mycroft declared, looking around, but since there was literally only them and Rosie in the park, there was no one to speak up against the marriage.  Mycroft then cleared his throat.

            “I require and charge you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why you may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, that you confess it.  For you be well assured, that so many as be coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful.  At which day of Marriage, if any man does allege and declare any impediment, why they may not be coupled together in Matrimony, by God’s law, or the Laws of the Realms; and will be bound, and sufficient sureties with him, to the parties; or else put in a Caution (to the full value of such charges as the person to be married do thereby sustain) to prove his allegation; then the solemnization must be deferred, until such time as the truth be tried” he continued before he turned to his brother.

            “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do you take John Hamish Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband?  Will you love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep yourself only unto him, so long as you both shall live?” he asked.  Sherlock was quiet for a moment and John looked at him with concern in his eyes.

            “Sherlock…” he started softly when Sherlock smiled.

            “I do” he declared.  John smiled as Mycroft turned to him.

            “John Hamish Watson, do you take William Sherlock Scott Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?  Will you love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep yourself only unto him, so long as you both shall live?” he asked.  John nodded.

            “I do” he replied.  Mycroft smiled as he then looked forward at Rosie, who was dressed in a beautiful purple dress, and motioned for her to come forward.

            “Come Rosie” he called out.  Rosie beamed as she walked forward, carrying a small pillow with two black rings on it.

            “Here you go, Daddy” she stated, holding up the pillow to Sherlock, who smiled.

            “Thank you, darling” he replied, taking a ring from the pillow.  He then turned to John and smiled fondly.

            “With this Ring I thee wed—” he started, first placing it on John’s thumb.

            “—and with my body I thee honor—” he continued, placing the ring on John’s index finger.

            “—and with all my worldly goods I thee endow” he declared, placing the ring of John’s ring finger.

            “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen” he finished.  John smiled, tears in his eyes, as he took the other ring from Rosie’s pillow.

            “With this Ring I thee wed—” he started, first placing it on Sherlock’s thumb.

            “—and with my body I thee honor—” he continued, placing the ring on Sherlock’s index finger.

            “—and with all my worldly goods I thee endow” he declared, placing the ring of Sherlock’s ring finger.

            “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen” he finished.  They then looked at Mycroft, who looked back at them with pride on his face.

            “I now pronounce you husband and husband.  You may kiss your groom” he declared.  Sherlock smiled before he pulled John in and smashed their lips together.  Molly clapped as tears streamed down her face while Lestrade nodded his head with pride.  Rosie did a little jig before she tugged on Sherlock’s suit, wanting to be picked up.  Sherlock smiled as he reached down and lifted her up, letting out a laugh as the girl threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

            “Love you Daddy” she murmured.  Sherlock smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

            “Love you too, sweetheart” he replied before he handed her over to John, who she also hugged and kissed.

            “Love you Papa” she squealed.  John laughed and gave her a squeeze before he looked over her shoulder at Sherlock.

            “I love you Sherlock” he murmured.  The demon chuckled as he stepped forward and pressed a kiss to the angel’s lips.

            “And I love you John” he whispered.  They then both pressed a kiss to Rosie’s cheeks, making the girl squeal in delight.

            “And we love you, Rosie!” they exclaimed.  Off on the side, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly were watching the family with pride in their eyes.  Living with a demon wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this long story is finally over! I hope you all enjoyed it and please don't be afraid to check out my other stories! I have turned "Living with a Demon" into a series, so I believe the next story in this series is going to be like a few months later after this chapter, maybe even a year later, I don't know yet. But it will be good, I promise.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading, commenting, subscribing, bookmarking, leaving kudos, all of it! I love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This story is basically a re-telling of Sherlock Season One but with Rosie added into the mix. It's really cute and I think y'all will really like it.
> 
>  
> 
> Please don't forget to leave comments, kudos, bookmark, and subscribe!


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